


Neighborly Affection

by HooksLovelySwan (ChainOfPaperClips)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-01
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 12:02:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 28,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1549802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChainOfPaperClips/pseuds/HooksLovelySwan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma Swan's new neighbor, Killian Jones, is the talk of the neighborhood, and living next door to him is almost more than she can stand, especially since the man doesn't seem to own a shirt! But the tug she feels toward him is inexorable, and the genuine feelings that develop between them...quite unexpected. Captain Swan AU. Rated M for sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

They stumbled through the doorway to her bedroom, limbs entangled, mouths devouring each other, each of them frantically trying to divest the other of their clothing first. She should've known it would come to this, Emma thought, moaning as lips pressed a hot trail of kisses down the curve of her neck to her bare shoulder. He pulled back with a smirk. Cerulean eyes radiated a passion that sent a jolt through her. Heat pooled between her thighs, aching with the need to be doused.

"Like that, do you, neighbor?" he teased, nipping at her lower lip as he moved to kiss her senseless again.

She should have seen it coming miles away. She'd been all but literally screwed the moment she rushed out the door to her car, four weeks ago, late for work.

_Emma locked the front door of her house and hurried down the sidewalk, cursing when she dropped her keys. Ducking to pick them up, she heard laughter. Keys in hand, she turned around, searching for its source, and spied a man sitting, shirtless, in the back of a half-empty moving truck, legs dangling toward the street. Raising his beer in salute when he noticed her noticing him, his smug smile practically lit up the entire block, never mind the flickering streetlamp nearby, struggling to make itself relevant in the semi-darkness. "Hello, neighbor," he drawled, his eyes roving over not once, or even twice, but three times._

_Jesus, this was her new neighbor? she thought. He was going to be trouble, she realized, fumbling with her keys as she tried to unlock her car. Which had absolutely nothing to do with him sitting there, legs swinging merrily, his hair messy and tousled as if he'd just had a roll in the hay. Nor did it have anything to do with the hair that downed his chest and or the generous stubble on his cheeks that looked all too inviting. Absolutely nothing._

_Emma tried her usual tactic of rolling her eyes and throwing back a snide remark, but it didn't deter him in the slightest. In fact, much to her irritation, it encouraged him. "See you later, then," he laughed as she got into her car with a huff and drove off, his laughter a tangible warmth that didn't leave her for the rest of the evening._

"It's Emma," she breathed, fingers circling the waistband of his jeans, teasing him, before they danced up the hard planes of his chest, exploring and stroking. He practically purred beneath her touch.

"Well, Emma," he said, lowering her onto the bed, "let me introduce myself properly at last." He drew the strap of her bra down her shoulder with his teeth. "Killian Jones."

"I know," she gasped out as his thumb smoothed over the curve of her bra, pressing more firmly where her nipple lay underneath it. He raised an eyebrow. "You're the talk of the neighborhood," she laughed.

He looked mildly surprised at that, before it was replaced with an expression of exasperating smugness. "And what have _you_ been saying about me, then, darling?" he inquired, nibbling an earlobe as one hand slid the other strap of her bra down, the other gently lifting her from mattress until she was semi-reclined in his arms. Nimble fingers unhooked her bra, and it fell into her lap, where Killian picked it up, eyeing the red lace with avid interest before tossing it over his shoulder.

"Wouldn't you like to know," she teased, fingers burrowing into his dark hair, massaging the scalp. He closed his eyes with a sigh, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth. "Perhaps I would," he admitted, pressing his body against hers as she drew him back on to the bed with her.

Emma reached forward and stroked the peak of hardness through the jeans he still wore. "I know what you're doing, Emma," he growled, eyes darkening with desire. "This conversation isn't over."

It was her turn to smirk. Ignoring him, she unzipped the fly of his jeans. She drew the rough fabric away from his hips. Killian obliged her efforts, shifting in the bed to shimmy out of them. Emma took advantage of the moment to push him onto his back. He grinned at her, his gaze smoldering, and twirled a lock of her hair between his fingertips. Emma slid a hand up the leg of his black boxers, squeezing his balls lightly before her fingers closed around his hardened, silky length. "Fuck," he groaned weakly, his eyes rolling back into his head before he closed them. "I've fantasized about that for weeks," he panted.

He wasn't the only one. Emma had hardly thought of anything else, herself. If it wasn't the snarky conversations they shared with each other across the fence every afternoon while Killian nursed a beer or a glass of rum, sometimes the occasional cola, shirts again nowhere to be found (Did the bastard even own any?), it was the sight of him mowing the lawn, shirtless, every Saturday morning, that sent her mind into a frenzy of dirty thoughts...

_Emma stepped onto the back porch, a steaming mug of hot chocolate sprinkled with cinnamon clutched in one hand, the newspaper tucked underneath one arm. She eased into one of the patio chair, stretching her legs out before her and crossing them at the ankles. It was her usual Saturday morning ritual: fail miserably at completing the daily crossword puzzle while she sipped at her drink and waited for her the caffeine to hit her blood stream and wake her up fully._

_She laid the paper out in her lap, reaching for the pencil she'd tucked behind one ear._

_"Morning, neighbor."_

_Emma started, spilling hot chocolate on her lap. "Shit!" she hissed, wincing as some of the liquid spilled off the newspaper and splattered onto her knee, burning her. She threw the newspaper aside and cast about for a place to set down the remains of her hot chocolate._

_There was a brief clanging sound, and before she knew it, he'd vaulted the chain link fence that separated their properties and bounded up to her. "You all right?" he asked with concern. "I didn't mean to give you such a fright."_

_"I'm fine, I'm fine," she insisted, her every nerve taut with tension, her senses hyper alert to the fact that, once, again, he was shirtless. His chest muscles gleamed with sweat, and bits of grass clung to his hair. She stole a quick glance at his yard and spied the lawnmower standing in the grass, a canister of gasoline sitting near it._

_"You're not fine," he argued as she finally stowed the hot mug of liquid beneath her chair. "We should go inside and take care of it. It would be a shame to scar those gorgeous legs," he leered. "Do you have any aloe vera?"_

_"Any what?" she said blankly._

_He snorted. "Of course not. Come with me." Without giving her so much as the courtesy of an opportunity to protest, he took her by the hand and led her out of the back yard. They crossed over onto his property and slipped into the back yard, latching the gate behind him._

_"Come on in," he told her, sliding the screen door open to let her inside his house. He gestured to for her to enter. "Ladies first."_

_"I don't think so," she said with narrowed eyes. "You could be an ax-murderer or a predator, or something."_

_Rolling his eyes, he held up his hands for her inspection. "Do these look like hands that have ever held an ax?" Blotches of ink stained fingers and palms, calluses dotting the fingertips of his right hand._

_"No," she muttered, "but that doesn't mean anything."_

_He sighed. "Wait here, then." He stepped inside the house, then poked his head back out again. "As for the predator part, darling, I'll have you know that any prey I stalk consents willingly before I eat it." And with a swipe of his tongue across his lower lip, and an irreverent wink, he disappeared from sight completely, leaving Emma to sputter with indignation._

Her hand pumped up and down the length of him, tugging his shaft gently every time she reached the tip. He growled, his breathing becoming more and more ragged. Pleased with the effect her efforts had on him, she increased the tempo of her ministrations, tugging with a little more force. He surged up suddenly, pressing her back against the mattress. "Easy, lass," he croaked, "or it'll be over before either of us gets a chance to enjoy this properly."

Cupping a breast with one hand, he lowered his mouth onto it, tongue flicking over the nipple in quick, teasing motions that set Emma aflame. She squirmed beneath him, arcing her body against his instinctively. He chuckled, nipping at her other breast with gentleness before he nuzzled against it, his facial stubble scraping against it with an arousing roughness. Planting kisses in the crevice between her breasts, he blazed a trail downward, parting her legs with one hand to allow him better access.

Peering up at her from beneath dark, curling lashes, he grinned at her and lowered his head between her thighs. "Holy--!" She emitted a sound that was something between a pant and a groan as his warm tongue slicked through the heat gathered in her core, flicking, sucking, and gently nipping by turns. "God, Killian!" she cried, as his tongue circled her sensitive nub and flicked across it with a light nimbleness that literally made her legs tremble with the strain of holding back her orgasm.

Killian noticed her efforts and nuzzled his face against a thigh. "Let go, Emma," he whispered.

"But--but I want both of us--" she panted, unable to finish her sentence as he flicked his tongue over her nub again. Her orgasm hit hard, a drawn out scream that sounded utterly foreign to her ears emerging from her throat as it hit her in wave after wave of ecstasy. When it faded, leaving her trembling in a whole new way than before, Killian leaned over her, chuckling, the expression on his face supremely smug, and a gentle affection in his eyes that made Emma's heart skip a beat.

"Am I to take it you enjoyed yourself, _neighbor_?" he teased with an arrogant wink.

She cuffed him under the chin with one hand. "Bastard."

He cupped her face with one hand, brushing his lips across hers with a tenderness that sent a chill of warning through her. He nipped and teased his way into her mouth before she could think up a way to put distance between their hearts again, prevent their emotions from becoming entwined with what they were doing, and after a moment she became lost in the heady sensation of his kisses, his teasing strokes and gentle caresses, and ceased to care anymore.

When he lowered himself against her some time later, the tip of his shaft teasing at her entrance, Emma growled and pulled his hips forward, hands sliding around to grip the curve of his buttocks. He grinned. "So impatient, love," he chided. "Very, well, as you wish," he acceded, carefully sliding into her. Killian entered her to the hilt, eyes closing with a ragged sigh. "Emma," he murmured against her ear, "you feel so good."

She bucked her hips in response, and his eyes opened. He smiled in amusement and started to move, wordlessly guiding them both toward the release they sought with each other. His thrusts were gentle at first, almost agonizingly slow, and Emma cursed at him several times in frustration. Killian laughed. "Slow down, love," he encouraged. "Savor it."

But love was precisely what Emma was trying to avoid feeling. She'd toed the line for far too long with him already. If she didn't pull back now, she never would. Fast. Hard. Sweaty. That was what she needed, what she wanted, to distract her from the feelings stirring inside of her. She arched her hips up to meet his, slamming them together with a roughness that lit a spark of desire in his eyes.

The problem was, Emma realized as Killian's pace increased to match her own, that the more energy she poured into it, the more her feelings for him intensified. When her orgasm hit, the onslaught of emotions that washed over her was far more intoxicating than the high her release  brought. Killian exploded his release into her moments later, his drawn out moan an arousing sound in itself. Panting, he peered down at her afterward, his mouth slack and the expression in his eyes faintly shocked. Kissing her underneath her chin, he rolled off of her and curled against her side, flinging an arm over her possessively.

"What the hell was that?" she managed weakly.

He laughed. "A bit of neighborly affection," he winked.

"Mmm," she said, eyeing him sidelong, her nerves singing with tension. She took a deep breath, butterflies in her stomach, as she closed her eyes and took a leap of faith. "Maybe...maybe we could be affectionate again sometime?" she tried.

She felt his lips brush against her cheek. Emma opened her eyes, and his cerulean ones watched her with a smile. "It would be my pleasure, neighbor."


	2. Chapter Two

When Emma awoke early Sunday afternoon, she felt more relaxed than she had in ages. The fact that it was her only day off from work was but a happy bonus. She rolled over onto her back and stretched her arms out, luxuriating in the opportunity to laze about in her own bed. Her fingers brushed the pillow on the other side of the bed, finding it cold, and thought of the occupant whose head had lain on it so many times the previous night. When she had issued Killian an open invitation for more "neighborly affection," as he laughingly called it, she hadn't realized he'd take her up on it so instantly, nor so thoroughly  and _repeatedly,_ that he ended up leaving the house around three in the morning.

_"Wake up, lass," he murmured in her ear, tickling her under the chin. "Your eyes are drooping."_

_"I'm tired," she sighed, her word slurring with drowsiness. "Let me sleep."_

_"Thoroughly exhausted you, did I?" he grinned down at her, blue eyes sparkling with mirth. She swiped at him half-heartedly, mumbling curses at him. He laughed and pressed a kiss to her cheek before rolling out of the bed. "I'm heading home," he told her, reaching for his jeans. "It's nearly three o'clock."_

_She slanted a look at him through sleepy eyes, only half-processing his words. "Okay." Emma missed his next words, as well as the pleasure of watching him dress, her eyes drooping shut again as the lazy fingers of sleep tugged at her consciousness again. Her eyelashes fluttered slightly when something warm and soft pressed against her cheek a few minutes later, but they never opened fully. Dimly, she registered a charmingly accented voice speaking to her, and gentle pressure on her shoulder, but the words might as well have been in a foreign language for all that she grasped them when the voice chuckled, "Rest well, sweetheart."_

Showered and refreshed an hour later, Emma stood in her kitchen, a queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. She had been reckless last night, in more ways than one. What had she been thinking, sleeping with her next door neighbor? If relations between them hadn't been tense and slightly awkward before, they were bound to be about ten times worse now. And what of their interactions when this...whatever it was...fizzled out? When they started bringing home other people?

The thought of Killian stumbling through his bedroom door, wrestling the clothes off another woman made her go cold. A shard of jealousy cut into her heart, jagged and sharp, and Emma closed her eyes. "Fuck," she whispered. "What the hell is wrong with you?" How had it come to this? How had she let him get to her? No one had managed to do that for _years_ , not since Neal. And here this next-door-bastard was, worming his way into her affections and her _bed_ in a mere four weeks time!

What was wrong with her, wanting to wait and come with him at the same time? When was the last time she had ever wanted, or even _cared_ , about that? Why had she let her emotions become involved in sleeping with him like that?

And what the hell special brand of mental was she to let open up to the possibility of the development of something _more_ with him, afterward?

Emma stirred her coffee with a frown, glancing toward the back door. Was he outside already? Or was he, too, sleeping late today? Licking the cream off of her spoon, she laid the spoon in her sink. Gripping the warm cup in both hands, she blew on the liquid and took a sip, considering what she would say to him when she saw him again. She felt embarrassed enough that she had given him an open invitation to come fuck her brains out whenever he felt like it, but utterly mortified with herself that she had given the invitation at all. She hadn't taken a chance, let herself be vulnerable with anyone in seven years. Seven. Freaking. _Years_.

Sighing to herself, Emma decided to bite the bullet. She opened the back door and wandered onto the porch. Shutting the door behind her, she drank deeply from her cup of coffee and tried not to let her eyes slide over to Killian's property. She still had no idea what she might say to him. Did she even need to say anything at all? They weren't in a relationship, exactly. Whatever her feelings during or afterward might have been, her invitation had been solely about sex, at least on the surface. So far as Killian was concerned, this was a fling, or a friends-with-benefits sort of situation.

Emma's eyes slid in the direction of her neighbor's yard despite her efforts otherwise. But instead of his usual smirk and wink, she found his back porch empty. She sat down in one of the patio chairs, befuddled at the disappointment she felt. She took another drink of her coffee. Before she could process what any of this might mean, she heard the screen door open on his porch.

Her gaze snapped up, and she spied Killian stepping out of his house dressed in a complete outfit for once, cell phone tucked against one ear. His words were indistinct from such a distance, but the expression on his face was unhappy. Whomever he was speaking to, Emma decided, they weren't having a pleasant conversation. "Fine," she heard him say after a few moments, his tone defeated, "come by Friday." He ended the call with the press of a button, running a hand through his dark hair, the muscles in his arms flexing tantalizingly as he did so. Emma stared down into the depths of her coffee, as if it might give her answers, debating with herself about whether or not to greet him or simply slip back inside unnoticed.

He saved her the trouble of a decision.

"You're drinking...coffee?" his voice floated over to her, laced with surprise.

Emma looked up. "And you're wearing a shirt?" she snarked back. "My, my, this is an unusual morning for both of us."

Killian grinned at her, stuffing his phone in the hip pocket of his jeans.  He sauntered over toward the fence that divided their properties. A thatch of dark chest hair peeked out from the v-neck of his form-fitting red t-shirt. Emma eyed it with fascination. How the hell did he manage to drive her just as crazy with desire fully clothed as he did half-naked?

"Would you believe I finally got around to doing laundry?" he laughed.

Emma stood up and went to join him by the fence, coffee mug clutched between her hands. She flushed slightly, remembering the last time they had held a conversation in such close proximity.

 _Emma threw open the back door and stomped onto the patio, madder than a hornet whose nest has been jumped on. The heads of her pink bunny slippers bobbed up and down, ears flopping to and fro, as she strode across the yard toward the fence that separated her property from her irritating next door neighbor, Killian Jones. The man had lived here a matter of_ days _, and already he had managed to crawl underneath her skin and take up residence, rubbing her nerves raw._

_"Hey!" she shouted over the noise of the chainsaw he wielded. "HEY!!!"_

_The noise ceased suddenly, and he shifted on the ladder where he was tending to the branches of a large oak tree, whose branches overhung the fence between their properties. He peered down at her with curiosity from behind the protective goggles he wore over his deep blue eyes. "What seems to be the problem, lass?"_

_"What the fuck do you think you are doing?"_

_He arched an eyebrow. "Trimming this tree. What does it look like I'm doing?" He shook his head. "Some of those branches," he gestured up toward the tree, "are ripe for one good storm to rip them off and fling them about, causing damage to either one of our properties."_

_"At seven freaking a.m. on a Saturday morning?!"_

_"Hmm," was all he said, giving her a considering look. He climbed down from the ladder, the bare muscles of his chest and arms rippling in a way that filled Emma's head with sinful thoughts. He removed his hard hat, pulling the goggles free when he reached the ground. He set them aside and scrubbed a hand through his dark hair, mussing it to even worse disarray than usual. "Not a morning person, then, are we?" he said, stepping up close to the fence to face her._

_She glared. "Do I look or sound like a fucking morning person right now, jackass?"_

_He grinned. "Ooh, you're a tough lass, aren't you?" His eyes travelled up and down her figure, and Emma clutched her robe more tightly around her person, regretting her decision to charge out the door without changing first. "To answer your question...no, you don't look like a morning person," he murmured, his eyes heated. He swiped his tongue across his lower lip, staring at her hair. Emma patted it self-consciously, wondering how bad it really was. "You look like someone who's...been up all night."_

_Emma ground her teeth together. Could he be any more annoying? "I work in a fucking bar, moron. Of course I'm up all night."_

_"Hmm," he said, "so I recall. One of these days, I shall have to pay this bar of yours a visit, Swan."_

_She frowned. "I don't recall tell you my name."_

_"Yes, well... I received some of your mail by mistake. I was going to return it to you yesterday afternoon, but we got rather distracted with our conversation."_

_"Speak for yourself," she snorted._

_"I'll go get it for you."_

_"Don't bother," she growled, "because I fully intend to go back inside that house and get some actual sleep. I refuse to lose out on tips at work tonight because I'm too tired to paste a fucking smile on my face and deal with customers' shit just because you decided to play the role of a goddamned woodsman this morning! Do whatever the hell you need to with the tree or the lawn, but not until ten o'clock, all right?"_

_He watched her for a moment, an amused expression on her face. "I suppose if you need your rest, I might be able to oblige you," he breathed, inching his face closer to hers. He bit his lower lip and then smiled, leaning close to her ear. The hair on the back of Emma's neck prickled at his nearness, the awareness of how one deep hitch of breath from either of them might join his lips to the skin just below her earlobe. Emma shivered. "I think I'm quite fond of you, neighbor," he whispered. "Especially when you're mad."_

_She pulled back with a start, glaring daggers at him. "You're a piece of work, you know that?" With a roll of her eyes, Emma stomped back the way she had come._

_His laughter followed her all the way into her house._

"Not a chance," she said, clearing her throat as the memory faded.  "No way you're just getting around to laundry." She gave him an arch look. "Unless you're trying to convince me you've been wearing the same two pairs of jeans all month without washing them. Which is gross, by the way."

His grin became even wider. "Been paying a lot of attention to my jeans, have you? And here I thought it was my chest you were always staring at."

"Like you don't strut around shirtless just to attract attention."

His grin grew even wider.  "The first time was just a coincidence, darling. After that..." He trailed off, a suggestive leer on his features.

"Bastard," she huffed, not quite managing to hide a smile.

"It worked, didn't it?" he replied smugly.

"So, what," she rolled her eyes, "now that you're finished having your fun, you start wearing shirts again?"

The amusement faded from his face. The expression in his blue eyes was somewhere between heated and sober. "Who says I'm finished, love?" Emma felt her cheeks grow hot. "Are you rescinding your invitation so soon, then?" he went on, "Because I can easily remedy the presence of this shirt if it offends you," he flirted shamelessly.

She glared at him over her coffee cup. "I hate you."

"That's not the impression I received last night, darling," he winked.

She pointedly took a sip of her coffee, and he chuckled.

"Look, come over to my place tonight," he invited, causing her heart to skip a beat. "It's only fair, since I spent so long at yours last night."

Oh. Of course.

Emma valiantly tried to swallow her disappointment along with the last cold dregs of her coffee. Trying to convince herself that she shouldn't be surprised--men like him never committed, anyway--and that it was really for the best, Emma returned to the patio, thinking.

"I'll make it worth your while," he entreated, before she could find the words to end things before they got too messy, and she ended up hurt again. "I promise."

Emma glanced over her shoulder. Big mistake. Oh, Lord, not the puppy dog eyes, she thought, taking in his pleading expression.

"All right," she sighed, hoping she wouldn't live to regret this, "what time?"

 

* * *

 

Emma stared at the front door of Killian's house, feeling queasy for the second time that day. She clutched the bottle of wine in her hands as if her life depended on it. What in the hell was she doing? She was playing with fire. Killian wasn't interested in anything more than sex. If she couldn't be content with that, she shouldn't be here. She should just turn and walk away.

 _Screw it_ , she thought. _It's just sex_. He wanted it, she wanted it. Why should she deprive herself just because she was afraid of getting hurt? Emma never let a man get close enough to hurt her. If there was anything she was good at, it was separating emotion from sex. She'd just slipped up last night because it had been too long, that was all. She'd let herself confuse the pleasure of sleeping with a man with something deeper.

So she just wouldn't let it happen again.

Emma knocked on the front door determinedly. Killian's muffled voice responded from within, and a few moments later, the door swung open. Killian peered out at her with a smile. "Hello." Gone were the jeans and t-shirt he'd worn earlier that day; he had replaced them with a pair of khaki pants, belted at the waist, and a navy, button-down shirt that seemed to bring out the blue in his eyes more than ever.

Emma suddenly felt self-conscious in her simple white tank-top and cargos. Perhaps she should have worn something nicer, after all. Maybe that little red mini-dress that had hung in her closet for ages, unused.

Killian brushed at his hair absently, and Emma noticed that it was damp, in as much disarray than ever, as if he had just rubbed it with a towel.

Her mouth went dry at the thought.  She felt her cheeks grow warm. "Um," she said, flustered by the thoughts of a dripping wet Killian that  seemed stuck on repeat in her mind, "I brought wine?" She held the bottle out between them as if it were a shield that might protect him. It wouldn't take much for her to attack him and take him right on the front porch.

He chuckled, hands brushing against hers as he took the wine from her. "So I see. Thank you." He stepped back. "Care to come in, love? Or must I take you on the porch in front of everyone?"

Emma blushed as he echoed her own thoughts. "I should have known you'd be into the kinky shit," she muttered brushing past him.

He shut the door behind her and planted a kiss on her cheek, the scent of whatever cologne he'd put on nearly driving Emma to madness with the need to bury her face in his neck. "And you're not, love?" he murmured, trailing kisses down to her neck. He nipped at her earlobe and then pulled away with a grin. "Somehow, I doubt that very much. There's too much fire in you." He winked at her. "Let's open this wine, shall we?" He placed a hand on the small of her back and guided her through his house to the kitchen. "I didn't know whether you'd eaten," he informed her, rifling through a drawer for a corkscrew, "so I made enough for two." He nodded his head at large bowl of pasta on the counter, steam rising from it. "I don't cook much, but I can manage some noodles if need be."

"Um, no, dinner will be fine," she managed, feeling awkward. "I didn't eat much earlier."

"Nervous?" He uncorked the bottle of wine and smiled at her, pouring the wine into two glasses that he retrieved from a cabinet.

"Why should I be nervous?" she countered, accepting the glass that he held out to her. "It's just sex."

Something flickered in his eyes, and he turned to check something in the oven. "Breadsticks are nearly ready," he informed her.  "Give them another minute or two, I'd say."

 Emma swirled the dark, mulberry-colored liquid around in her glass. Killian turned to face her again, picking his own glass of wine off the counter top. She smiled, arching a brow when he held up his glass with a questioning look. "What?"

"A toast, perhaps?"

"To what? Sex?" she laughed.

"Hmm," he smirked, "I was thinking of putting it in less crass terms, Swan. Perhaps...to more pleasant, ah, neighborly relations?"

Emma snorted, unable to quite contain her laughter. "Sure." She clinked her glass against his. "I can drink to that."

They ate soon after that, when the breadsticks finished baking, and on the whole, it was pleasant enough affair. Conversation was light, even casual, steadfastly avoiding topics that might deviate into territory that might become too personal, make either of them too uncomfortable. Emma discovered that they shared a love of reading, and while their tastes varied somewhat, there was enough overlap that they were able to hold a somewhat in-depth conversation about their favorite fiction genres and authors.

"Have you read the newest James B. Huckes novel?" she asked over dessert--delicious fudge brownies that nearly made her shudder with delight. "Mmm," she sighed, licking the last crumbs from her fingers, bad etiquette be damned.  Killian watched her, clearly fascinated. Emma smirked at him, sticking a finger into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it to swipe up the brownie crumbs, and pulling it out of her mouth with a slow pop.

"What--was the question?" he faltered, staring at her hand as she laid it on the table.

"James B. Huckes. Have you read him at all?"

He frowned. "Not exactly."

"You should give him a try. I can lend you some of his books, if you like. He writes the best fairy-tale remakes. Fascinating twists on all the old tales. I never know what to expect from him."

Killian waved a hand. "That's all right, lass. Reading about fairytales isn't exactly my thing. No offense."

"Oh." Her face fell. "Well, okay. Maybe something from August W. Booth, then? He's a great fantasy author as well. Specializes in urban fantasy, though. Pretty different from Huckes."

He eyed her with a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Persistent, aren't you?" he smirked, clearing the dishes from the table. Emma followed him out of the dining room and into the kitchen again. "All right. I'll give Booth a try." He placed the dirty dishes in the sink, spraying them down with a little bit of water to clear away the worst of the food particles. "But only if you take something from my collection in return." He turned away from the sink and caught her in his arms. "Perhaps discussing them will give us something to do besides fight with each other."

 _And fuck each other_. The words hung in the air, unspoken, but charging it with tension just the same. Emma inhaled deeply, gazing up into his eyes. He watched her in return, his expression serious, even contemplative. Before she knew it, his face had inched close to hers, their noses brushing against each other, breath ragged as they hesitated to seal their lips together.

"Emma," he whispered, "I don't--"

"Shhh," she told him, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Let's go upstairs."

He nodded once, and slipped his hand into hers. He led her up the stairs and into a large room decorated in rich hues of brown, gold, and red. Killian sat down on the bed and looked at Emma. A corner of her mouth quirked up into a smile. She sat in his lap sideways, sliding her arms around his neck again, and leaned into him, inhaling the scent of his cologne again; it was comforting and arousing all at once. She slanted her mouth against his, and he obliged, allowing her access, matching her kiss for kiss in a bizarre but arousing competition to see whom could outlast whom.

By the time they broke apart, chests heaving as they drew air into their lungs again, neither of them could have said who was the winner, nor would either of them cared. Nimble fingertips slid beneath the hem of Emma's tank top, caressing the skin along her abdomen before moving up toward her breasts. Killian reclined her on the bed, leaning his body over hers, sucking at a sensitive spot along her collarbone as his hand snaked underneath her bra. Emma gasped when he rolled a nipple between his finger and thumb, nerves singing with fevered delight. Heat coursed into her thighs.  
  
"Killian," she murmured, raking her fingers across his back, hands traveling southward to the waistband of his pants. Emma fiddled with the belt, trying to unbuckle it, and he chuckled. "All in good time, Swan." He helped divest her of her tank top, sliding his fingers along the white garment beneath it. He freed one breast from its cup and swirled his tongue around the nipple, causing Emma's leg to jerk in surprise. Flashing her a pleased expression, he drew the nipple into his mouth and sucked. Emma stirred restlessly beneath him, her hips arching up to grind against his body with need.

She gripped his waist as if her life depended on it while he turned his attention to the other breast, and decided that turn about was fair play. Pressing into his chest with her hands, he paused, looking at her in confusion, his eyes fogged with lust. Emma took the opportunity to push him onto his back, she straddled his legs. Unbuttoning his shirt with a swiftness that surprised even her, Emma kissed and stroked her way down his chest, following the line of hair to the waistband of his pants. When she reached his trousers, she paused, cupping him through the material, before unbuckling his belt. Emma pulled it free with a slight hiss, tossing it onto the floor behind her.

"Quite alluring, Swan," he said in a breathy voice.

Emma ignored him and unfastened his pants, reaching a hand into the forest green boxers he sported today. He inhaled with a hiss. Smiling to herself, she pulled his boxers down to his thighs. She ran a fingertip up his shaft from base to tip, watching with delight as he shivered in response. Smirking, Emma leaned down and took him into her mouth.  "Fuck, Emma," he groaned, bucking his hips up as she started a torturously rotation of her tongue around his length.

She laughed, the hum of it causing Killian's eyes to roll back in his head at the sensation.

Eventually, after Emma had tortured Killian to the brink of ejaculation, he flipped them over again, ripped their remaining clothing off, and set about one-upping her in her oral ministrations. "Goddammit, Killian," she swore weakly after he'd coaxed her into coming for a third time, "I'm not going to have anything left at the end, at this rate."

"Oh, you'll not miss out in the finale, I assure you," he smirked with a cockiness that she found as maddeningly attractive as she did irritating. "Let me prove it to you..."

What followed was the most intense, sweaty, frantic round of fucking she'd ever experienced in her life, her hips arching up with desperation to meet him thrust for thrust. But Killian was right. Come, she did, with a long, drawn out moan that made him chuckle, his blue eyes shining with pleasure as he watched. Kissing her fiercely, their tongues sliding and twining against each other, Killian finally came, too, his moans muffled by her mouth.

Emma rubbed her hands in lazy circles against his back, enjoying the weight of him settled on top of her. Eventually, Killian rolled off of her, offering her a lazy smile, and tucked her against him. "Enjoyed yourself, love?" he asked, kissing her just below her earlobe.

"And then some," she admitted, her body humming with pleasure beneath the touch of his fingers as he stroked the curve of her hip. She rolled over to face him. He was watching her with a healthy measure of satisfaction.

"Good."


	3. Chapter Three

Emma listened to the clink of glasses and the intermittent roar of bar patrons fixated on tonight's game as she wiped down the bar. It wasn't an idle task, given the overly brash asshole that had been escorted out of the bar a short time ago because he couldn't keep his hands to himself. Her boss never did take over familiarity with his staff too well, so when Emma had alerted him that Ruby was being harassed, Graham had confronted the bastard, and things had taken an ugly turn. Glasses had been smashed and drinks spilled as the two men struggled with each other, but it wasn't long before Graham's hauled the offending jackass out, with orders not to darken their doorstep ever again.

"You all right?" Emma murmured to her friend as she re-emerged from the ladies room, looking much calmer than she had several minutes earlier when all hell had broken loose.

"Yeah," Ruby said with a tiny smile as she resumed her task of mixing drinks at the other end of the bar. "You know how it goes."

Emma did. She knew it all too well. But the difference was, a bar brawl made _her_ blood surge and sing with a delicious fervor as adrenaline took over--not shake like a leaf. It wasn't for nothing that Graham called Emma his "deputy." She had been in a fair number of bar tussles herself, and escorted out her own share of unruly customers, if needed, but Graham preferred to handle it himself if he was present, and Emma generally deferred to his wishes since he _was_ the owner.

"I guess," she replied with a shrug, glancing toward one of the TVs as the majority of their patrons cheered. Had they scored?

"Well, hell-ooooo," Ruby catcalled under her breath. "Yes, I'll be just fine once I get a piece of that."

Emma looked up with amusement, wondering who her friend had set her sights on this time, and was shocked to see Killian ambling into the bar. He flashed Ruby a knowing grin, but made a beeline toward Emma instead, seating himself on a stool directly in front of her. "Hello, neighbor," he said in a low tone, with a cheeky grin.

"Wearing a shirt again, I see," she said stupidly, unable to fathom that he was actually here at her job.

"Mmm, well I understand they won't serve you if you walk in without one," he winked. "But if you'd prefer," he said in a husky voice, leaning across the bar toward her until their faces were inches apart, "I can remedy that for you later." He smiled winningly, biting his lower lip in the way that always drove her crazy.

Over Killian's shoulder, Emma spied Graham watching from a distance, his expression suspicious. Catching Emma's gaze, he raised his eyebrows in a silent query, but Emma shook her head at him. He frowned, as if he wasn't convinced, but made no move to interfere.

Emma glanced back at Killian. "Is that an invitation?" she flirted back.

"Most assuredly."

Heat coursed through her at the hint of seduction in his tone, and she felt her cheeks warm. "Um, what'll you have?" she asked, clearing her throat awkwardly. Killian chuckled, shooting her a knowing gaze, and ordered a glass of one of the on-tap beers they offered. "Back in a moment," she assured him.

"Who _is_ that guy?" Ruby hissed over her shoulder the moment Emma retrieved a glass for Killian's drink order. "Emma! Have you been holding out on me?"

"Um," she said with a flash of guilt that surprised her, "sort of."

"'Sort of' as in you two obviously flirt like crazy, or 'sort of' as in you have shared a seriously hot lip lock?"

"Um," she said again, turning toward the tap to fill Killian's glass with the correct beer.

Emma saw Ruby's eyes widen out of the corner of her eye. "No way!" she exclaimed in a smothered shriek of delight. "You two banged?" She peered over at Killian curiously. "You think he's back for more?" Her mouth fell open a little when Emma didn't respond, staring with laser-like precision at the tap, her cheeks heating with a blush. "No way!" she hissed. "How many times? How was it? Are you two a thing? God, I'm so jealous! He is a seriously fine specimen of the male species."

"Victor's not so bad," Emma said nonchalantly, peering over at her co-worker-become-friend--and also neatly sidestepping the issue of what, exactly she and Killian were. Because she was damned if she knew, exactly.

"Victor?" Ruby blinked in confusion. "You think Victor has the hots for me?" She peered out into the crowd of people, seeking out the blond-haired man.

"Come on, you seriously didn't see it?" Emma turned off the tap, admiring the thick foam that floated on top of the golden-colored beverage. "Everyone knows it except you, apparently."

"But--Victor flirts with every girl," she protested. "It doesn't mean anything. You know how he is. Has a different girl on his arm practically every week."

"But he doesn't bring them here himself," Emma felt the need to point out.  She picked up a napkin to wipe the rim of the glass where some of the beer had spilled over it. " _They_ find him. And he _is_ a horrible flirt--" much like Killian, she suspected, "--but he's different with you. Haven't you noticed? His flirting isn't the same.  He doesn't use his sleazy tactics on _you_ ; it's genuine."

Ruby spun toward her with narrowed eyes. "Stop trying to distract me, Emma Swan!" She shook a finger at her. "We are going to talk about this later."

Emma flashed her a grin and strode away, chuckling to herself.

"What's so funny, love?" Killian inquired as she placed a napkin down on the bar and set his beer on top of it.

"Oh, just driving Ruby crazy," she shrugged. "So why are you really here?" Emma turned away and retrieved some lemons and limes from the mini-fridge behind the bar, and began cutting them up.

He arched an eyebrow. "I have to have an ulterior motive? Isn't it reasonable that I simply wanted a drink?" Killian sipped at his beer as if to prove his point.

"Uh-huh. Except that we both know I've seen your liquor cabinet. You're hardly hurting for a drink at home."

"Perhaps I wanted company, then."

Emma crossed her arms. "Killian, we've been...keeping each other company every afternoon before I come to work. There has to be more to it than that." She paused in her work to look at him. Blue eyes locked with her own. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He smiled faintly. "So the stereotype about you bartenders is true, then."

She swatted at his arm playfully, and he smiled. "Well, I can't promise any real advice, but I'm good at listening, so I suppose that part is true enough," she offered with a wry smile of her own. "And I'm only doing this until I finish law school and pass the bar."

"Ah, an ambitious woman." His face lit up with interest, and he eyed her with a familiar heat in his eyes. "I always did love a challenge." She raised an eyebrow, prodding him toward further explanation, but a patron called out a drink order to her, and she shot him an apologetic look. He shrugged, as if he'd expected it long before, and returned to his beer.

As it turned out, Emma had to fill orders for more than just one drink. The performance of their city's team had taken a turn for the worse, and it was apparently too much for their customers to bear while sober. It was all Ruby and Emma could do to keep up with the sudden crush of people returning to the bar with orders, or flagging them down from the tables, and it wasn't long before Graham stepped in to lend them a hand. The three of them worked like the gears of a well-oiled machine, their familiarity with each other's habits enabling them to work in near-complete silence. Emma and Graham mixed and shook and poured while Ruby ferried drinks back and forth, flashing her wide, winning smile at customers to soothe their ruffled feathers, and commiserating about the horrible turn the game had taken.

She glanced at Killian from time to time, worried that she might find an empty stool the next time she looked in his direction. But amazingly enough, he seemed content to remain perched on his stool, Graham occasionally refilling his glass with more beer. Killian alternated between watching the game with the rest of the bar, and tapping on his phone from time to time, and Emma wondered if he was texting someone.  And if so, whom?

By the time the rush died down and Emma could breathe again, her shift was nearly over. "Hey," she said, leaning across the bar from him again. "Sorry about that, it got kind of crazy for a while."

Killian turned to look at her, and he shot her a slightly goofy smile. "Hello, lass," he drawled, his Irish accent thicker than usual. He gave her a slightly exaggerated wink, his blue eyes a little glassy, and Emma bit her lip to keep from laughing. He cocked his head to the side. His eyes traveled up and down her figure, tongue swiping across his lower lip hungrily. "Have I mentioned you look quite lovely tonight?"

Emma snorted. She was wearing her work uniform. And all right, the summer version that she sported tonight consisted of black shorts and a white scoop-neck t-shirt with the bar's name, Humbert's, scrawled across it in cursive, but it was hardly as skimpy as he made it sound. Her shorts covered much more of her than the uniforms their competitors used for their female staff (a fact which had cemented Emma's respect for her boss). And much of this was covered with the ugly apron she wore, anyway.

"Come on, Romeo," she smirked, "I'll take you home." Emma untied her apron and hung it on a peg on the wall behind her. Graham glanced at Killian again, then jerked his head in the opposite direction, signaling that he wanted to speak with her. Emma sighed and trudged over.

"What's up?"

"Emma, I normally make it a policy not to pry into the lives of my employees, but are you sure you're going to be all right going home tonight? Ruby can handle it for a few minutes while I walk you out to your car, and I can get a cab for your admirer over there."

"Um, no," she answered awkwardly, sliding her hands into the back pocket of her shorts. The moment she did, she swore she could feel the heat of Killian's gaze right on her ass. Carefully ignoring the urge to turn around and confirm her suspicions, she fixed a steady gaze on her concerned boss. "Killian's my next door neighbor. It would be silly to call him a cab, when I can drive him home." Graham's eyes narrowed, and he looked as if he wanted to protest again, but Emma held up a hand. "It's okay. I trust him. He's good people."

"All right," her boss sighed, glancing over at Killian again. "But text me when you get back home, so I don't have to worry."

"Sure thing." I smiled at him and retrieved my purse from the locked drawer he provided for our personal affects. Slinging the strap over my shoulder, I waved goodbye to Ruby, who was clearing off some of the empty tables, and went to collect Killian.

"Come on," I said, slipping my arm around his waist to steady him as he stepped off the stool, "let's get you home."

 

* * *

 

Killian was unusually quiet during the drive back, and for a while Emma was certain he had fallen asleep. When he finally spoke, she nearly jumped out of her own skin, her grip on the steering wheel tightening instinctively. "You realize your boss is in love with you." She slammed on the brakes, her yellow bug screeching to a halt in front of his house.

"What the hell?" she yelled. "I thought you were asleep!"

He turned, leveling her with a gaze that was more alert than she had expected under the circumstances. "You were mistaken."

"Obviously," she huffed. "And what the hell do you mean, my boss is in love with me?" "Exactly what I said. You didn't know?"

Emma felt herself flush. She had suspected for quite some time, actually. But as attractive as he was, with his brown, curling locks and puppy-dog eyes, she had never let herself entertain the idea of a relationship with him. He was her boss. And she liked her job, even if it was somewhat temporary until she finished her studies and passed the bar exam.  She had no intention of screwing it up and being forced to burn any bridges. 

She sighed. "Killian, why are you telling me any of this?" He chewed on his lower lip, looking away, but offered no further comments. "Fine, then. Let's just get you inside." She turned the car off and pulled the key out of the ignition. Exiting the vehicle, she rounded the car and walked over to help him, but Killian was already out of the vehicle, stretching his arms with a frown. "You're awfully limber all of a sudden," she said suspiciously.

He winked at her. "I'm always limber, darling." He sidled closer to her, arms slipping around her waist, pulling her close. "Come inside and allow me to demonstrate." His hands travelled down to her ass, cupping it firmly.

She smiled, shaking her head. "You're incorrigible."

"That a yes?"

Emma tilted her head. "I don't know. You gonna regret this in the morning? I wouldn't want to take advantage of you in your condition," she teased.

"Hmm," he said, "well, I'm hardly drunk, lass. A bit tipsy, yes, but perfectly aware of what I'm about." He nipped at her earlobe. "And I never regret a moment with you," he murmured into her ear, nuzzling at her neck. Emma blinked several times, trying to process what he had just said, analyze what it meant, but he pulled away, slipping his hand into hers.

They were inside his house and peeling each other's clothes off before she knew it, barely having the presence of mind to shut the front door before they attacked each other in earnest. Killian backed her against the wall, hands pressing against her hips, tongue skimming up the length of her neck. "Emma," he murmured, kissing her on the lips, "Emma."

She returned his kiss, begging for entrance into his mouth with a playful nip of her teeth on his lower lip. And God, it felt good to do that, she thought as he obliged, after all the times he had almost driven her to madness with his peculiar oral tics. She hummed with pleasure as he lifted her shirt, tossing it aside. His eyes darkened with arousal, and his hands skated across her back, unhooking the clasp of her bra. Cupping a breast between his hands, he laved the nipple with his skilled tongue. Emma shuddered with pleasure. "God, Killian," she said breathlessly. "I've waited all night for you to do that."

"Have you, love?" he chuckled, blue eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Were you thinking about that while you were working tonight?"

"Hard not to, with you sitting there smirking at me over your beer and undressing me with your eyes," she defended herself.

He laughed, pressing his forehead against hers. "Felt that, did you? Well, that's not the only thing that's hard tonight, darling." His hand found its way into hers again. "Come upstairs with me, darling, and I'll show you."

Emma followed him, thinking vaguely that she ought to retrieve her shirt so it would be easier when she left later, but all sensible thought soon fled from her mind once he pressed her into his bed. One hand unclasped the button of her shorts, the other sneaking below its waistband and burrowing beneath her underwear. Emma obliged his efforts by peeling both layers off, and he hummed with pleasure at the sight of her, bared to him, as if he hadn't seen it many times before now.

"So lovely," he said quietly, almost as if speaking to himself. He pressed a trail of kisses up her inner thigh, fingers stroking at her sensitive nub. Pleasure pooled between her thighs, and she shifted restlessly, pressing herself more firmly into his touch. Killian pulled his hand away with a smirk, watching her with satisfaction so thick that she could practically smell it. Emma almost moaned in protest before he lowered his head between her thighs and began to suckle at the sensitive bundle of nerves.

Her hands clenched at the sheets in a vain attempt to brace herself, her hips rocking upward as her body instinctively thrust itself into his ministrations, silently begging for more. "Oh God," she cried, the muscles in her thighs and calves so tense that they ached. "Oh God!"

She shattered, her orgasm hitting hard and fast, the waves long and intense. It was unlike anything she had ever experienced before, and she felt faintly amazed that Killian had managed to coax it out of her. Every time she thought the sex with him couldn't get any better, he somehow managed to prove her wrong.

When they lay curled against each other later, limbs tangled together, sleepy after their exertions, Killian fixed her with a smile that made her heart thump harder. "Stay," he invited, tucking a lock of tangled hair behind her ear. "It's late."

"It's just next door," she protested. "It's not like I have far to go."

"As you say," he acquiesced after a moment of silence.

"But...if you're really sure...?" Emma said after a long internal struggle in which she played out all the possible consequences if she did stay.

Killian pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose. "I'm sure."

 

* * *

 

Something warm and smooth brushed across her stomach, and Emma sighed with contentment, pressing into it. Even half-asleep, she recognized him, smelled the scent of rum and soap and something else, something so familiar and comforting to her that she _should_ have recognized it, but which always lingered just beyond her ability to properly identify it; a mysterious scent which she had finally just come to identify as _Killian_. "Morning," she murmured without opening her eyes, savoring the press of his lips to her skin, the scrape of his scruff to her collarbone.

"Just 'morning'?" he chuckled. She opened her eyes. As she had suspected, he wore a smirk that was equal parts irritating and arousing--and absolutely nothing else. He leaned over her and brushed some hair away from her forehead. "Well, if that's the way of it, darling," he said, hands skating down the curve of hips, "let me give you something to get yours off to a good start."

"It already is," Emma said without thinking. Killian pulled back slightly and stilled, gazing at her with an expression that she couldn't quite interpret. _Dammit_ , she thought, wakening fully. Wasn't it enough that they had spent the night together? Why did she have to go and fuck it up by saying something so stupid? _Because I need caffeine_ , she thought with chagrin. _Lots and lots of caffeine, apparently_.

"Well, then," he said after a moment, "let me make it even better." He kissed the curve of her breast.

"Wait," she said, feeling confused, "you're not freaked out or upset?"

"Should I be?" He blinked at her with a confused expression of his own. "About what?"

"About what I said," she answered, feeling her face grow hot.

He paused, releasing the nipple he'd been rolling between his fingers. Emma felt a brief flash of disappointment. Killian drew back and lay on his side next to her."No, darling, I'm not upset."

"I don't understand," she confessed. "I mean--I never do this."

"Do what?"

"Spend the night! I haven't--this is the first time in...well, a long time," she hedged, unwilling to divulge any information that might lead to discussion about Neal. She wasn't remotely ready to have that discussion with him yet. "And most guys, they would--well, they wouldn't take it well if I said something like that to them."

"Then they're bloody stupid cowards," he stated. Killian tilted his head, studying her. He bit his lower lip, chewing on it in the way that always drove Emma crazy with desire. "Why did you say it?"

"Because--well, I don't know!" she said helplessly. "I mean, I was half asleep." She winced at the callousness of her own words, but Killian only chuckled. "You're laughing?" she said in disbelief. "Why?"

"Because if you were half asleep, then it was certainly the truth. And that means you don't regret your decision to stay." He smiled at her crookedly.

"Were you worried that I would?"

"Perhaps," he admitted. He seemed to hesitate. "I've not spent the night with a lass in quite some time, either."

She blinked at him in surprise, and he arched an eyebrow. Emma ignored the dare. "So," she swallowed, running a hand down his chest, fingers curling into the dark chest hair that downed his skin. He fairly purred under her touch, shifting restlessly beside her, a smile curling across his face. "You said something about making my good morning even better?"

Killian placed an arm over her waist and drew her nearer to him. "Happy to oblige, love," he chuckled, brushing a kiss across her lips.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I know I said there would be angst in this chapter, but I realized that to do everything I wanted to do in this chapter, it would be super long, and I thought it was just better to get an update out, even if it was shorter, than to stick to the original plan. So I'm saving all of that for the next chapter. Anyway, enjoy! :)
> 
> Oh, and there is some slightly rough sex in this. Nothing too graphic, though.

After a long, relaxing shower at Killian's suggestion, Emma wrapped herself in one of the chocolate-hued towels hanging from the towel rack, and exited the bathroom. It wasn't until she spent a few minutes searching Killian's room that she remembered where her shirt had been cast off last night. Shit. Emma walked over to the bedroom door and poked her head out. The smell of pancakes greeted her, and her stomach growled loudly.

She glanced toward the closet at the far end of the room, debating with herself. It would be very easy, convenient even, to simply slip into a shirt of Killian's until she retrieved her own clothing. Would it be overstepping the bounds of their casual arrangement to do so? Was it still a casual arrangement after she'd spent the night? She bit her lip, sensing, fearing, that the answer would be "no." And yet, hadn't she spent the night at men's houses before? It didn't necessarily mean anything, she reminded herself with a lift of her chin.

Of course, she usually snuck out the door by dawn. And she certainly never saw any of them again, much less ate breakfast with them.

_Screw it_ , she thought, irritated with herself. This was exactly why she didn't get involved in real relationships, ever. Everything was too damned complicated and confusing. It was much simpler just to fuck and find release and leave it at that. And that, she assured herself, was all that this was. All it would ever be. Emma strode toward the closet. Either Killian would be fine with it, or he wouldn't. And if he wasn't, well...she'd gotten some great sex out of their little arrangement while it lasted.

Except she would still have to see him every single day, knowing not only that she had slept with him, but with full awareness of how good he was in bed, how considerate and giving, and- _fuck_ , was she wet again?

_Dammit_ , she thought, selecting a pale green shirt. Who the fuck was she kidding? Killian stirred feelings inside of her- _real_  feelings that she hadn't experienced in a long time. Because she had never let herself. And the fact that she was feeling them for her neighbor, regardless of how hard she tried to keep him out, terrified her. No matter how she tried to deny or justify it, the entire arrangement between them was a ticking time bomb. It was bound to end in a nasty explosion. She was crazy to think otherwise. Why on earth had she ever let herself get involved with him like this? All it needed was a spark of friction and-

"Emma?" Killian's distant voice called, interrupting her thoughts. Restless and aroused, she pulled the shirt on with a growl. She slipped out of the closet, closing the door behind her.

"Yeah?" she called back, raising her own voice as she began to button the shirt.

"Would you rather have juice and coffee with breakfast," he began, his voice nearer than before, "or just-" The bedroom door swung open, and he faltered. His cheerful expression faded, the joyful light in his blue eyes doused in an instant, only to be replaced by a strange somberness.

Emma stilled, the shirt but halfway buttoned, feeling awkward. She felt him study her with an intensity in his eyes that, while not unfriendly, wasn't anything like the lighthearted expression she usually found in them. "Sorry," she apologized, her words sounding foreign against her the still quiet that had descended between them. "I-um, let me get my clothes, and I'll go," she mumbled, attempting to skirt past him.

Killian moved to block the door. "I never said you needed to leave," he murmured with an unhappy expression.

"You didn't have to," she replied woodenly, feeling like a fool.  _That didn't take long at all_ , she thought, torn between hysterical laughter and tears, but unwilling to let him witness either one. Maybe she had let him get to her, but she was damned if she would ever let him know it. She had more pride, more dignity than that. And she'd been through this same song and dance with men before, the sudden dismissals, tossing her away like a used candy wrapper, just like the dozens of foster families that had taken her in and used her, then given her back when she wasn't convenient to have around anymore- Emma inhaled deeply, forcing her words to remain even and steady. "It's written all over your face."

His expression darkened, and his frown became deeper still. "If I've somehow given you that impression, Swan, believe me, it wasn't intentional." She tensed as a hand brushed across her cheek. "Nothing could be further from the truth." His expression softened. "It's been a long time since a woman's worn one of my shirts like that."

She eyed him skeptically. "I'm supposed to believe that, after the way you pranced around without a shirt for weeks, smirking at me and acting as if you've pulled the same move on women half a dozen times before? Please."

He chuckled. "But it's true love," he insisted, invading every last inch of space between them. "You took me by surprise." His hands settled at her waist, caressing her through the thin fabric. He pressed his hips against hers, and she felt the familiar bulge of his arousal tantalizingly close to her already dripping core. "But I've a surprise or two of my own," he breathed into her ear, his voice thick and husky with desire. "Would you like to see?"

Emma swallowed slowly, and found herself nodding despite the nervous fear that settled like a lead weight in her stomach. It was stupid, really stupid, to sleep with him now that she knew she had real feelings for him, she realized as his hands slipped beneath the hem of the shirt, massaging her ass. She shuddered, her exhale sounding more like a moan than a sigh.

It was only going to end in disaster. If not now, then later. Better to cut and run now, when it hurt less, than later when she was more attached, more invested in whatever the hell this was-when it would hurt  _more_. Because it always did hurt, in the end.

"Emma, love," he murmured, nipping at her shoulder as he peeled the collar of the shirt back, "I can feel you thinking." He pulled back, watching her with a concerned expression. "What's wrong?"

"Our breakfast will get cold."  _Oh Jesus, did I really just say that?_  she kicked herself.

"We'll reheat it," he dismissed, blue eyes boring into her as if he knew that wasn't the truth. And damn it, it wasn't. But he shouldn't be able to sense that, to know her so well!

"What's really bothering you, Swan?"

Emma stroked the back of his neck with one hand, drawing him closer still. "The only thing that's bothering me right now are all these clothes," she murmured, fingers skimming down his shirt, the hard planes of his chest apparent even underneath the shirt he wore. Humming with pleasure, she nipped at his neck and began to shimmy the fabric away from his skin.

"I know exactly what you're doing, Emma," he replied hoarsely, a catch in his voice. "Don't think I'm going to forget about this later."

Of course he wouldn't, she thought with resignation. Distract him though she might, it was only a temporary reprieve. A small delay in the inevitable. Killian certainly hadn't forgotten the last time she had tried to distract him, after all...

_"So," Killian said, tucking her back against his chest as they lay spooning each other in her bed, "what is it that you've been saying about me, Emma?" he teased, with a smugness in his voice that she found especially irritating. But damn it, she was tired and sated, her thoughts a complete jumble, and she just didn't have a snappy comeback for him this time._

_"That you're a smug, overconfident jackass with no sense of personal space," she answered, her words muffled slightly by the pillow pressed against part of her face. "But completely hot without a shirt."_

_He chuckled, laughter vibrating against her shoulder blades. "And here I'd been starting to wonder if you were completely immune to my charms."_

_"If you call requiring quite a bit of personal time after seeing you all sweaty and half-dressed, then sure," she drawled, her eyes fluttering closed as sleep tugged at her consciousness, "I was absolutely immune to them."_

_"Oh, did you, now?" he purred against her neck._

_Emma's eyes flew open as her words-and his-finally penetrated her consciousness. Shit. She had absolutely not meant to tell him that last part. He was really going to be insufferable now. She drew a breath, thinking quickly, searching for some way to take back her words, to play them off as sarcasm or...something._

_"Show me," he breathed into her ear._

_"What?" She blinked in confusion, shifting to peer over her shoulder at him. His blue eyes were hooded, their reflection almost hypnotic._

_"Show me everything you did when you thought of me like that," he insisted. His arousal brushed against the small of her back, and she felt a rush of electricity zip up her spine. "When you were wet and dripping from the sight of me, and desperate for relief."_

_"Why?" she found herself replying suspiciously. "Because you get off on the fact that-"_

_"The only thing I've gotten off on is you," he interrupted, pressing a chaste kiss against her shoulder. "You weren't the only one who needed some...personal time after our little encounters."_

_"Oh." She rolled over to face him, taking in his expression. It was a curious mixture of earnestness, desperation, and arousal. "Really?" He nodded once, his blue gaze locked on to her own. "All right," she agreed after considering his request for another moment. "But only if you return the favor."_

_"It would be my pleasure," he smirked at her with an exaggerated wink._

_Emma rolled her eyes and groaned, but it was half-hearted at best. Her blood was already thrumming, her core moist with anticipation of what would follow as her fingers slid between her thighs. "Would it now?" she said archly._

_"Aye," he exhaled, his eyes blazing a hot trail down her skin to where she was lazily stroking herself. "And yours," he assured her with a smug grin._

_Emma struggled not to smile in return. Smug, overconfident jackass indeed. But for some reason, she didn't find it entirely repellent. Somehow, her handsome, irritating neighbor had managed to get under her skin and into her bed. And Emma was determined to make the most of it._

"Later," she assured him, "over breakfast. Right now, I need you Killian. I need you inside of me. I need-"

Killian covered her mouth with his, drowning out whatever stupid, unguarded thing she had been about to say next. He backed her up against the wall, one hand roaming beneath the borrowed shirt she wore, the other one cupping her face as he took the kiss deeper. His tongue caressed hers, as if to savor the taste of her, and Emma shivered as warning bells started ringing in her head. It wasn't supposed to be like this, slow and sensuous with a fine of edge of desperation, as if they were actually making love. As if they couldn't keep their hands off each other. Like a real couple. It couldn't be like that. He would hurt her, or she would hurt him, and-

Warm fingers stroked the underside of her breast, managing to hit upon an unsuspected area of particular arousal, and Emma's eyes flew open in surprise as heat coursed through her body and settled between her thighs, making her wetter than ever. Panting between kisses, she ran her hands through his hair, massaging the scalp with her fingertips, and eliciting a soft groan of pleasure from him. Grinning at his response, she nipped at his lower lip playfully and stroked the scruff that downed his angular jaw line, admiring it for a moment before she cupped the him through his trousers with her other hand, thumb rubbing in circles against the point of his hardness.

Growling, Killian hiked her leg up against his thigh and thrust the bulge of his arousal into her core, and this time it was Emma who moaned. He pulled back with a grin, and she whined in protest at the loss of contact. Shucking his shirt off in one swift movement, he reached for his belt.

"Let me," she insisted, hooking her fingers in the waistband of his trousers and drawing him close again.

"If the lady insists," he smirked.

"She does." Emma removed the belt in no time, discarding it onto the floor with a clink. She peeled his trousers and underwear down to mid-calf in one swift movement. His erection sprang free from its confines, pre-cum already glistening on its tip. Spreading the moisture across the head of his shaft with her thumb, she curled her other fingers into his chest hair. His breaths became ragged as she moved her hand up and down his shaft almost lazily, pinching his one of his nipples with her other hand. He growled, thrusting into her hand with fevered frustration, and Emma chuckled. Gliding her hand down his ribcage, she cupped his balls with gentle pressure, eliciting an interesting mix of praise and curses from him as his eyes fluttered closed.

"And now," she purred, kneading his balls with her fingers while her other hand increased the tempo of its ministrations, "the lady desires something else."

His first attempt at a reply was an incoherent garble of words, and Emma grinned to herself, enjoying with immense pleasure the affect she was having on him. "Yes?" he finally managed a few moments later, cracking his eyes open. He blinked with a slowness that Emma found sleepy, almost vulnerable. She paused in her attentions, her heart beating with fear and a keen spark of hope as she felt herself teetering on the edge of a precipice.

"Yes, love?" he murmured, hands roaming across her torso restlessly. He blinked again, and the vulnerability vanished, replaced with mischief and barely restrained need, his voice rough with arousal. "Which is?"

"Take me," she said, pushing aside the uncomfortable thoughts that nagged at her. Caring, genuine caring, would only lead to trouble. And the best way to avoid that was to avoid anything remotely tender. As she always did. "Hard. Rough."

He arched an eyebrow at her, and before Emma could even blink, he reached forward and ripped the shirt off of her in one swift movement. Buttons flew in all directions, and she felt a pulse of excitement as he grasped her by the shoulder and turned her toward the wall. Pressing her against the cool surface, he issued a slap to her behind that made her keen with lust.

"As you wish."

Emma's eyes fluttered shut with relief and pleasure as he entered her without further preamble,. "Oh, God," she groaned as he started to move with vigor, "Killian." Her skin slapped against the wall repeatedly as he pounded in and out of her, his movements swift and unforgiving. Exactly the way she liked it.

"Fuck, Emma," he panted in a voice that was something between a growl and a moan. "You're so wet, so tight. You feel so good."

"So do you," she gasped intermittently. "Oh God, right there, yes," she moaned. "Harder, Killian. God, so much harder!" He obliged her with a predatory grin and Emma knew that she would sport several bruises from their encounter later. Purple reminders that would make her smile to herself later that she had finally found someone to give it to her the way she really wanted. Not like Neal, who had always wrinkled his nose at her and behaved as if something were wrong with her for wanting it hard and fast sometimes. No, her ex had suffered under the notion that every time they had intercourse, it needed to be slow and over the top romantic. And look where all of that had fucking gotten her.

"Oh God, oh God," Emma whimpered at the same time that Killian let loose a string of incoherent curses. "Please," she huffed, feeling herself on the precipice of release, "I'm almost-I just- Ohhhhhhh fuuuuuck," she shouted as her climax hit her with the force of a Mack truck, her walls fluttering with intensity. She rode out the waves of her orgasm, sweat-slicked and gasping for breath as Killian continued to pound into her, the hot tingling beginnings of another orgasm building almost immediately after the first. "Oh, God, oh yes!" she whimpered. "More, more Killian," she begged.

Killian turned her around to face him and covered his mouth with hers in response, his tongue tangling together with hers in a dance as frantic as their lovemaking. For despite her attempts to simply screw and run away from her growing feelings for Killian, that was exactly what it was for her. Who else had ever cared enough to give her exactly what she needed, much less needed it as much as she did? Emma felt the words building in her throat, the words that would change everything between them. He lifted her, and Emma wrapped her legs around him, her mind screaming in warning as they teetered on the tip of her tongue, but Emma surged forward, capturing his mouth with hers again, as another orgasm overtook her. The words drowned in their kiss and the cries of her release, never fully vocalized, but for Emma they might as well have been. It was too late. All her precautions, her attempts to put the brakes on any real feeling for him had come to naught.

She was in love with him.

Killian found his release moments later, his primal grunts and pants joining her mewling cries, a ringing sounding in her ears as each of them rode out the waves of their climax. It wasn't until there was nothing but the sound of unsteady breathing between them that Emma realized the ringing hadn't been some incredible side effect of her orgasm, but was in fact her cell phone. "Dammit," she swore as Killian set her down again. "Graham. I forgot all about him. I was supposed to let him know I got home okay last night."

She felt Killian's eyes watching her as she walked toward the sound, pushing aside one of his shirts to retrieve it. She pressed a button. "Hello?"

"Emma?" Graham's accented voice sounded muffled. "Are you all right? I've been trying to reach you all morning! You weren't answering at the house, and your cell kept ringing-"

"I'm fine," she said, glancing toward Killian, who appeared preoccupied with setting his clothes to rights again. "I just forgot to call. I was pretty tired after everything last night." Killian glanced over at her, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. He winked. Emma turned away, before she lost her composure. "Sorry."

Graham sighed into the receiver, and when he spoke again, he sounded relieved. "All right. I'm sorry, too. It just that-"

Warm hands slid around her bare waist, and she felt the press of Killian's lips against her neck. "I'll be downstairs re-heating breakfast, darling," he murmured into her ear.

Emma watched him leave, embarrassed at the awkward silence that ensued between her and Graham. He'd heard. It was impossible that he hadn't. "Listen, Graham," she started, hoping that they could move past any discomfort and just forget about the whole thing. "I-"

"Can you fill in for Tess two weeks from next Thursday?" he interrupted brusquely. "She's the maid of honor in her best friend's wedding, and she's giving the bachelorette party."

"Um, sure," Emma agreed, surprised at the sudden change of topics. "I can do that. But Graham-"

"I need to go. I have an appointment this morning."

"All right," she said, feeling disappointed. "Bye." He hung up after a brief farewell, and Emma punched the button to end the call, staring at the screen of her cell phone in frustration. Damn it all. She had never meant to hurt Graham. She'd gone out of her way to keep him at a distance. He was her boss. It was never going to happen for them. But he'd gotten hurt just the same.

"Fuck," she sighed, reaching for one of Killian's shirts again. She could only hope that she wouldn't fall prey to the same fate with Killian.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: All right, so...minor drama ensues, as promised. :)

"What the hell was that?!" Emma demanded, stomping into the kitchen several minutes after she hung up the phone with Graham.

Killian looked up from his coffee. "Hello, love," he said mildly. He set the mug down on the kitchen counter behind him. "Food's reheating," he informed her. "Though I take it there's something you wish to discuss?"

"Don't you dare play dumb with me, Killian Jones! You did that on purpose. Well, guess what, buddy? You and I are not in a relationship, so you have no right to act like some--some jealous boyfriend, staking a claim just because I'm talking to some other guy!"

"You're right," he said quietly, turning his attention to the oven. He opened the door and peered inside. "My apologies. I was out of line."

She blinked, her anger deflated by surprise. "Wait. What?"

Slipping on a pair of oven mitts, Killian retrieved a tray of croissants before answering. "As you said," he replied evenly, removing the steaming pastries to a small towel-lined basket, "we are not in a relationship." Killian picked his coffee back up, and carried the pastries to the table, where a large stack of pancakes, some sausages, a bowl of various fruits, and some fresh yogurt were waiting. "Food's ready. Let's eat."

"That's it?" Emma blinked again as he pulled a chair out from the table.

"Fighting over breakfast tends to give me indigestion, love. And I'd hate to have to reheat the food a second time." He gestured to the chair. "After you."

Emma obliged him, shooting him a speculative look as he rounded the table and sat down across from her. That he had refused to give her the argument she had expected both annoyed and intrigued her, and she didn't know what to make of his strange behavior. One minute, he was exuding masculine possessiveness and jealousy, however subtle, and the next, he was Mr. Domestic, and behaving cool as a cucumber.

Come to think of it, she thought, surveying the spread of food on the table, Mr. Domestic might be putting it lightly. "So," she said, placing a pancake on her plate and reaching for the syrup, "you seem, ah, quite comfortable in the kitchen."

Killian issued her a wary look over his coffee. "Meaning?"

"Meaning that when you had me over here the last time, you said you weren't much of a cook. But then this morning, you produce all of this," she said waving at the spread of food on the table.

"I said I didn't cook much, darling. Not that I _couldn't_. There's quite a difference in meaning between the two."

She narrowed her eyes. "Do you always quibble over word choice when you want to avoid talking about something?" 

"Frequently," he smirked, "but not always."

" _Killian_..."

He smiled boyishly, scratching his neck. "Perhaps I went a bit overboard with breakfast," he admitted. "I wasn't certain what you liked to eat, and I'm not used to cooking much anymore. Generally, I tend to make do with pizza or a bowl of cereal, rather than go to the trouble of cooking for just myself."

"But I don't get it. Why lead me to believe you weren't much of a cook when you had me over for dinner, but then go to all this trouble this morning?"

He leaned back in his chair, looking thoughtful. "I suppose I wanted to keep things...simple... that night. I didn't know how the evening would go."

Emma paused, her fork in mid-air, and studied Killian, who suddenly became very absorbed in his own meal. His movements were awkward and self-conscious,  a faint blush staining his cheeks. It was so unlike the cocky man she was used to dealing with that Emma couldn't even process it for several minutes. A dinner to get to know the neighbor better was one thing, but his invitation to stay overnight--and her acceptance of it--wasn't so simple. Not when they still had to see each other nearly every day.

The breakfast he'd prepared suddenly took on a whole new meaning. Emma shifted in her chair. She had no idea how to respond, or if she was even ready to do so, feelings or no feelings. It was too soon, too fast for her. 

"So," she said after a brief, but uncomfortable silence, "what do you do around here all day, anyway? Rumor has it that you work from home and run your own business or something." She speared another piece of pancake with her fork and waited for a reply.

"Of a sort," he answered, scratching behind one ear. "I'm a freelance writer."

"Oh," Emma said with interest, "for magazines and stuff?"

"Not exactly," he shook his head. "Or at least not often. I do a lot of technical writing."

"What does that mean?" she asked, reaching for her coffee. She held the mug between hands, letting it warm her fingers.

"It means I spend a good portion of my day writing instructions or providing data for other people. Usually, for me, that's in the form of user manuals, lab reports, training materials, or business proposals, but it can take other forms, too, such as newsletters or the occasional web content."

"Ah," she said, searching for the right words, "that sounds, um--"

"Boring?" he interjected with a grin. "I suppose it is, sometimes. It's not exactly a field of writing that allows for any creativity." He shrugged. "But someone has to do it, and it helps pay my bills."

"Always a plus," she agreed, stabbing the last bite of her pancake with her fork. "Have you ever thought of doing anything creative with your writing, like fiction? Or is that not your thing?"

"Um," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, "I try my hand at stories sometimes, but mostly I spend my time writing non-fiction."

"Hmm," Emma said, after taking a sip of her coffee, "and I can't imagine you always feel like doing yet _more_ writing at the end of a day filled with it, anyway."

"Precisely," he said, shooting her a crooked smile. "Are you working this evening?" he asked, changing the subject.

"No, I have a couple of classes this afternoon, and I have a paper due next week, so Graham's given me the weekend off to write and study." She frowned down at the apple in her hands. "I hate writing papers."

"Good luck," Killian said, eating a bite of sausage. He swallowed, then said, "Let me know if you need a proofreader or something."

"Thanks, but, ah, you don't have to do that," Emma said uncomfortably.

"I know," he said. "But the offer stands, if you're comfortable with it." He stood up and walked over the coffee maker, pouring a fresh cup of the bitter liquid. "I'm working through the weekend, myself. If nothing else, maybe we can catch up over some pizza and a couple of beers, if you find yourself in need of a reprieve."

"What, no cooking for me next time?" she teased, an impish grin spreading across her face.

Killian eyed her over his shoulder, his expression faintly surprised. "Perhaps I will," he decided, with a thoughtful tone. "After all," he grinned, his manner shifting to the overconfident, irritating flirt that she'd become familiar with, "we'll need something to keep our energy up."

 

* * *

 

Spirits buoyed by a pleasant morning spent with Killian, Emma sailed through her first class of the afternoon with ease. When class was dismissed and she found herself faced with her usual hour's break between her classes, Emma decided  to get a head start on her paper, in the hopes of not being forced to spend the majority of her weekend in front of a computer. It wasn't until she walked out to her car to retrieve her research materials that she realized she had left the textbook for her Juvenile Law class back at the house. Feeling annoyed, Emma buckled herself into the driver's seat and drove home to retrieve it.

She almost wished she hadn't.

Emma slammed on her brakes as she pulled into her driveway, the sight of Killian Jones wrapped around a petite, curly-haired brunette, filling her with rage. Images of her ex-fiancé, Neal, sitting naked astride her best friend, Tamara, when Emma returned from work unexpectedly one afternoon, flashed through her head.

 _Stupid, Emma, stupid,_ she berated herself. She watched hungrily while Killian lingered in the unknown woman's embrace, his eyes closed in an expression of relaxed vulnerability that _she_ had only ever seen him wear after sex. She swallowed with difficulty, trying to pretend the lump in her throat wasn't really there. She should've known better. The only two men she'd ever had an actual relationship with had both screwed her over, albeit in different ways.  So why should Killian Jones have been any different? The man was an incurable flirt and womanizer; it was obvious. So why the fuck had she let herself fall for his charm? She gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white, her anger overtaking her sense of sadness and betrayal.

Leaving her car only half parked, she yanked the keys out of the ignition. "That son of a bitch!" she growled. "Busy working this weekend, my _ass_!" Struggling to extricate herself from the seatbelt, Emma exited her car with as much dignity as she could muster, and slammed the door shut. Killian looked up at the sound, his expression horrified.

"Killian, what--?" the brunette began, as Emma strode across his lawn, determined to give the bastard a piece of her mind.

"Belle, you'd better go," he said quietly. "I'll call you later."

"All right," she said, releasing Killian. "Let me know if there's anything else I can do." Casting a wary glance at Emma, the brunette hastily made a break for her car, her high heels clunking noisily on Killian's driveway.

"Emma, it's not what you think--" he began.

"Really?" She tilted her head and batted her eyelashes at him sarcastically. "Oh, by all means, please explain it to me, then. I suppose she's your sister? Oh, wait! You said you only had a brother. Darn! I guess you can't use that excuse."

He winced. "If we can just go inside and talk--"

"Talk?" she snorted. "About what? You're free to do whatever--or _whomever_ \--the hell you want, Killian Jones; we're not in a relationship. But fucking do me the courtesy of at least not being a hypocritical asshole, insinuating shit about my boss and acting jealous, when you're apparently screwing half the damn town!"

His eyes narrowed. "Jealous?" he echoed. "I'm not the one making a scene on the front lawn, darling. Seems to me you're doing a rather splendid impression of a jealous lover, yourself."

"Oh, fuck you!" she exploded. "I don't have time for this. I have class." She turned on her heel, all thoughts of retrieving her textbook forgotten in the midst of her distress. In truth, class was the last place she wanted to be. Emma simply wanted to retreat somewhere quiet with a bottle of wine and some chocolate for a few hours, but she simply couldn't afford to miss the lecture. Not with exams coming up in a few weeks.

His hand clamped around her wrist. "Emma--"

"Let go!" She twisted around, prepared to kick him in the balls, but he released her easily.

"Emma, there's nothing between me and Belle, I swear. Please, I've been a sodding idiot. Just listen--"

"Forget it!" she shouted, stalking back over to her car.

He followed her, and his expression was pleading as she caught sight of his reflection in the car window. Ignoring it, she opened the door and slid into the driver's seat. Reaching over, she tried to pull the door shut, but Killian stopped her.

"I'm a widower!" he blurted out, peering down at her with a mixture of fear and desperation in his eyes.

"What?" she blinked up at him, uncertain that she'd heard correctly.

"I'm a widower," he repeated. "It's...it's all a very long story, and I wasn't ready to tell you yet, because I didn't want to scare you off like everyone else, but Belle's just my lawyer and--"

"Whoa," she interrupted. "Belle? As in Belle French? She's one of the most prestigious lawyers in town," Emma exclaimed, impressed despite herself. "A real shark, hiding behind a sweet exterior--or so I've heard. What on earth do you need her for? What does she have to do with you being a widower?"

"I'll explain everything," he promised, "if we can just talk later?"

She stared at him, absorbing the worried crease in his forehead, and the weariness of his posture. "All right," she conceded, hoping she wasn't falling for some elaborate lie, designed to keep her on the string with a host of other lovers. "After I come home tonight, we'll talk. But _only that_ ," she emphasized with a glare. 

He nodded. "Of course."

"Good. And now I'm really going to be late for class, if I don't get out of here." Killian backed away from the car with a nod, watching, as Emma closed the door and started her car. Whatever his story was, she thought, as she drove away, feeling his eyes on her the entire time, it had better be a good one.


	6. Chapter 6

Emma stared at her garage door, letting the engine of her parked car idle. For all her brave, angry words earlier that afternoon, she hesitated now to turn the key of her car and shut the engine off so she could go talk with Killian. Emma knew that she had made a fool of herself in so many ways. She had worried over it so much that she might as well have skipped class and had it out with her neighbor right away; she hadn't been able to concentrate at all. Taking notes had been a useless endeavor, and Emma had answered her Professor's questions with none of her usual poise. Emma offered vague, feeble excuses when he expressed his concern after class, and excused herself as quickly as possible, eager to just go home.

But now that she was here, home was the last place she wanted to be.

She turned off the engine with a sigh, taking the keys out of the ignition. What in the hell was she going to say to him? A simple apology simply wouldn't cut it. She would have to explain certain things about her past--a prospect she dreaded. If there was one thing Emma had learned about letting people get close to her, it was that they typically responded to her baggage in one of two ways: either it scared them off completely to see her vulnerability and need, or they ended up feeling sorry for her and treated her with a patronizing pseudo-empathy forever afterward.  Eventually, Emma just stopped sharing at all. It was easier to just keep everyone at arm's length.

But she couldn't do that anymore with Killian. She'd messed up and let herself begin to care about him, to love him. And now she stood the very real risk of driving him away like she'd driven away all the others: Her birth parents, Neal, the Swans, Walsh...even her own son.

She opened the car door and climbed out, peering over at Killian's house. The porch light was on, indicating that Killian was still up, waiting for her. Gathering her belongings, Emma locked her car and trudged across her lawn into Killian's front yard, listening to the cicadas serenade the neighborhood from the treetops. She pressed the doorbell and waited, a knot of anxiety forming in her belly.

Killian answered the door a few minutes later, and Emma's jaw dropped at the sight of his bloodshot eyes and disheveled hair. "Come in," he said in weary voice. Emma sniffed the air as she ducked past him and caught a whiff of rum. "I'm sober," he assured her, not fooled for a single instant. "For now."

She set her belongings aside and followed him to the living room, where they settled on either end of the couch. He picked up a bottle of rum from the coffee table and extended it to her in a silent offer. She hesitated a moment and then nodded. It might help to relax her a little for the conversation that was to come. Killian poured her a shot, and Emma downed it, chasing the booze with a bitter laugh.

"What's so funny?" he wanted to know.

"I was just thinking that I'd envisioned drinking shots with you under much different circumstances."

A smile threatened at the corners of his mouth. "Aye," he agreed, pouring her another.

It wasn't until Emma had finished her third shot that he finally broached the subject. "So," he drawled, "it would seem I owe you an explanation about Belle--"

"No," she interrupted. "Don't. You don't owe me anything. I had no right to say those things to you, or act so...um..."

"Jealous?" he supplied with a penetrating look.

Emma hesitated for several long moments and then nodded. Reaching for the rum, she poured another shot. "I don't have any claim on you," she finally managed to say, after she had finished it. "We haven't made any commitments. It shouldn't matter to me who you're with or when."

"But it did."

"Yes."

"Emma," he finally sighed after a long silence, "I don't like the thought of you with someone else, either." He smiled slightly. "As you might have already gathered, from my remarks about Graham."

"Just a little bit," she smirked.

"But," he said slowly, "I'm not certain this is the best time to begin a relationship."

She stared at him, unable to comprehend his words for several moments. "What?" she said sharply, when she could speak. "You're dumping me? You can't dump me!" she shouted, staggering to her feet. "We're not even in a relationship, remember?! God, I knew. I knew it! Every time. Every single goddamned time--"

"Emma..."

"How could I be so stupid?" she ranted to herself . "If I'm not being framed and then left alone and pregnant in some jail cell, then I find out a guy that I've been living with for a year is a psychopathic monster, and now _you_ \--"

"Emma!" he shouted. "That's not what I'm saying at all. Just let me talk for a moment, would you?" he said more softly. "Sit." She glared  at him, her fists clenched together. "Please," he begged. After a long moment of indecision, Emma sat back down and let him continue. Why, she didn't know.

"As I was saying," he continued, "I'm not certain this is the best time to begin a relationship, particularly with all that I have going on in my life, but...I really like you, Emma. I think perhaps more than that, even. But there are things you don't know about me, and some of them I'm simply not ready to talk about. Others, I can't talk about due to the court case."

"Killian, where is this going?" she demanded impatiently.

"I don't want to hurt you," he assured her. "But starting a relationship with you right now could put you in the middle of something very ugly and draw unwanted attention to your person."

She narrowed her eyes. "What are you saying?"

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck in an agitated manner, and Emma noticed for the first time how tense his posture was. Killian wasn't behaving at all like his usual smug, overconfident self. Even his reaction to her feelings of jealousy had been restrained, now that she reflected on it. An admission like that should have at least elicited one egotistical crack about his being irresistible to women or something, so of course she was insanely jealous.  But Killian had been withdrawn from the moment she'd stepped into his house tonight, she realized. She'd simply been too absorbed in her own guilt and personal failings to put it together until now.

"Killian," she said gently, "what's wrong?"

He jumped slightly, looking at her with a startled expression, as if he'd forgotten she was even there. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I have a lot on my mind."

"I can see that now," she agreed. "What's going on?"

"You remember that I said I'm a widower?"

"Yeah...it's kinda hard to forget that," she smiled. "Considering."

If Killian noticed her attempt to lighten the mood, he gave no sign of it. "Her name was Milah. We met when we were partnered together for a contract. She was my editor, so we developed a close professional relationship. She was in many ways something of a mentor to me, at first."

"At first?" she echoed.

"We worked a lot of long nights trying to meet some tight deadlines. Spent the majority of the time arguing over everything from syntax to split infinitives. But there were lighter moments. Moments when we'd share a laugh over coffee, or just get so fed up with each other's stubbornness when we weren't making any progress that we'd abandon the project and make up the most ridiculous stories you could ever imagine. It was an excellent way to blow off steam," he reflected, "and it taught us to work better together in ways that we could then implement in a professional capacity." He bit his lower lip. "Somewhere along the way, I don't quite know when, things changed between us. We were more than friends. And the long nights working together became more, too."

Emma studied Killian for a moment, considering the words that weren't being said. "She was married, wasn't she?" she asked quietly.

"Separated," he corrected, "but her husband seemed to think it was a matter of time before they'd reconcile. For their boy's sake, if nothing else."

"She had a son?"

"Aye. I think he was about eleven or twelve when this all started. Milah was several years older than me, you see. And she hadn't been happy in her marriage for years. The separation was simply a way of easing her ex into the idea of a divorce. And right or wrong, we fell in love with each other. Milah filed for a divorce, and when it was finalized six months later, we got engaged." He cleared his throat, a sad expression on his face. "A year later, we were married. It was a small ceremony, but we were deliriously happy. And then," he continued with a haunted look in his eyes, "not quite two years after we married, she got sick." His voice cracked with emotion, "The doctors couldn't figure out what was wrong with her. We saw so many of them. So damned many specialists at so many fucking clinics, and none of them could tell me what was wrong with her or how to fix it. She wasted away, and I was powerless to stop it."

"I'm so sorry," Emma whispered.

"For a long time I thought I was being punished," he said bitterly. "I thought that because of the way we'd gotten together, because she hadn't really been divorced yet, that the universe was punishing me. And that's why it took her away from me. Why her family turned against me and made so much trouble for me. Because deep down, I figured I deserved it."

"Killian--"

"They contested the will. Said she couldn't have been in her right mind when she made it, because Bae wasn't listed as a beneficiary. That I must have taken advantage of her illness and manipulated her into leaving everything to me."  
  
"I don't understand," Emma said with a frown, "she completely disinherited her son?"

"Aye," he said with a weary expression. "I had no idea until the will was read. But no one believed me, and she didn't leave any explanation. Her assets have been in probate for the past three years while we've wrangled over it, and for a time it looked as though we might finally be able to settle out of court, but..."

"What happened? They won't settle, so they're coming after you in court for more money?"

"No," he said flatly, "they're trying to take all of it, everything I have. Even the assets Milah and I earned together when we built a more permanent working partnership."  
  
Emma thought about that for a moment. "Okay, but I still don't understand why you'd need Belle. Isn't she a criminal defense attorney?"

"Yes," he whispered.

"Killian?" she said in horror. " _Why do you need Belle?_ "

"They're trying to take everything from me," he repeated hopelessly. "Even my good name. They're saying I killed her for her fortune. That I murdered my own wife."

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter took a bit longer to write than I expected, since I've been researching law and criminal proceedings. Hopefully I'll get things at least reasonably realistic and true to life in this chapter and the ones to follow, but since I'm not a lawyer and don't work in the justice system at all, I can only plead for forgiveness if I've mucked it up. :)

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Emma said after several moments of shocked silence. "You're being accused of _murder_?" She sat down hard on the couch, dazed. Of all the reasons that she had expected Killian to give for employing Belle's services, murder hadn't even been on the radar. Theft had, of course. Thanks to Neal, it had been at the fucking top of the list. But this? Emma couldn't fathom it.

Killian blinked once, then nodded somberly. "Aye."

"I don't believe this," she protested. "You, a murderer? You can't even put a _shirt_ on consistently! Just how in the hell do they think that you'd be competent enough to kill your wife and have it go undiscovered for _three years_ after her death?" Killian blinked, and a strange expression crossed his face, as if he didn't know whether to feel insulted or not. "Well, you know what I mean," she amended. "What kind of _evidence_ do they even have?" she finished indignantly.

He cleared his throat. "Thank you, love," he said quietly. And although his expression was as somber as ever, a light sparked in his eyes again, faint though it was. _Hope_. "Unfortunately, power and influence can accomplish what even money cannot."

"Meaning?"

"They got the body exhumed and autopsied. There were higher than normal levels of arsenic in her system. Someone poisoned my Milah."

"What! Why didn't they catch that before?"

"There was no reason to look for it, I imagine. She'd been sick for so long, it was simply assumed that was the cause of her death."

"But...all those clinics, all those doctors. How did someone not figure it out?"

"That's what I would like to know. Belle's looking into the possibility that some of them might have been paid to look the other way."

"Or blackmailed," she muttered.

"It's a distinct possibility," he rumbled. "But we cannot overlook the possibility that Milah was genuinely sick prior to her murder, either. _Or_ ," he allowed, "that the arsenic might have gotten into her system through other means."

"You mean some kind of accidental exposure?"

"Unlikely, given the testing and regulation these days," he shook his head. "I mean suicide," he finished with a bleak expression.

"But you said you were happy together," Emma blinked. "What reason would she have to commit suicide?"

"Perhaps to speed along the inevitable and spare me any further grief in watching her continue to suffer," he shrugged. "But I don't believe it. I don't believe Milah would have just given up on our life together, after all we went through to be with each other. She was a brave lass. A fighter. And she may have been unhappy about the deteriorating relationship she had with her son, but she was never secretive about that. She wanted to make things better with him. Kept reaching out to him and trying to mend the relationship  even up to the days just before she died. Even if she'd been unhappy with me or our relationship, she wouldn't have left Bae like that, not with all the guilt she was already feeling after the separation and divorce."

Emma thought of the will and the fact that Milah had apparently disinherited her son without so much as a word of explanation, and wondered if Killian wasn't looking at the situation through rose-colored glasses. Seeing what he wanted to see. She stood up and started pacing the length of the room. "Okay, so what direct _evidence_ do they have to link the arsenic to you, then? Everything that I'm hearing so far is circumstantial."

"Yes," he nodded, "but potentially damning nonetheless. Many convictions have happened based on such evidence."

She thought back to her law classes. It was true. One of the things she'd learned as a law student was that although many people assumed circumstantial evidence was somehow less valid in court than direct evidence it simply wasn't true. In some of the cases she'd studied, such as the Oklahoma City Bombing, circumstantial evidence had been more helpful in convicting McVeigh than direct evidence.

"So what happens now? I mean, you haven't been charged, right? They're just investigating. So they don't have enough to arrest you."

"Not yet," he murmured pessimistically, "but they'll find a way. Robert Gold will be certain of it."

"Robert Gold? _The_ Robert Gold?" she echoed with a mixture of horror and disbelief. "The casino baron?"

"But why would he...?" Emma's eyes widened as a few things clicked into place. "Shit," she said succinctly. "Milah's ex."

"Precisely," he agreed in a clipped tone. "Belle's accompanying me to the police station tomorrow. They want to question me."

Emma absorbed that for several minutes. What did one say in the face of a statement like that? Good luck? Hope you don't get arrested? Nothing seemed quite adequate to the situation.  "How will I know if...?" She trailed off, unable to complete the sentence, as if by giving voice to it, she might somehow jinx Killian into being arrested.

"I'll have Belle contact you."

She nodded, unable to do anything else, and then asked, "How long have you known?"

He shifted on the couch with a sigh, reaching for the rum on the coffee table. "Since today. I had an appointment with my regular lawyer, Archie, after you left." He poured a shot. "I thought it was just to finalize some things about Milah's estate and the settlement, but..." He swallowed the amber liquid, the Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "After he informed me of the accusations they're making, he called Belle. She spent most of the day here, going over everything and trying to help. She was worried for me. It didn't mean anything, I--"

Emma leaned over, laying a hand on his forearm. "No, Killian," she interrupted. "I get it now. You don't need to explain anymore."

"Actually," he murmured, scratching behind one ear, "I do. In the interest of full disclosure, darling, I need to show you something." He reached for her hand and drew her off the couch. "Come with me," he said, leading her up the stairs.

Emma watched, her curiosity afire, as Killian paused to the left of the stair landing and reached up for the pull cord that opened the attic. He unfolded the ladder and gestured toward it with a nod. "After you, love."

"Uh, not that I doubt your innocence or anything, but you do realize that sending a woman ahead of  you into an attic probably isn't in your best interests at the moment."

The first genuine smirk she'd seen since that morning graced his features. "Point taken." He climbed up the ladder, and Emma followed him, her curiosity piqued.

She peeked over the edge of the ladder as she reached the top and gasped. Instead of the dust and piles of boxes Emma had expected, a cozy office awaited her. She stepped onto the moss green carpet and turned around slowly, admiring the small space that had been renovated into an office. A large L-shaped desk carved from walnut stood in a far corner of the attic, flanked by a row of slate colored filing cabinets to its left, and a tall, narrow bookcase to its right. A heavily padded office chair was parked on the smaller side of the L, with a small laptop computer opened on the desk in front of it. Above the desk, several photographs hung on the wall. Emma walked over to examine them.

A woman with dark curls featured in many of them--sometimes by herself, sometimes with Killian. "That's Milah?" she asked, pointing to a photo of the woman beaming as she held up a string of three large fish.

"Aye." He smiled softly, and his eyes shone with happiness as he reminisced, "That was during a camping trip we took just after we got engaged. She ended up catching seven fish that weekend."

"How many did you catch?"

He snorted. "Zero. And don't think she didn't remind me of it every chance she got. She was fiercely competitive, my Milah." Pain lit in his expression again, and he fidgeted with one of the pens in the pencil up on his desk. "I loved that about her."

"And, uh, who's that?" She nodded at one of the photographs of a man with curling brown hair grinning from ear to ear with  a younger-looking  Killian as they stood on the deck of a boat. They each held a beer in one hand, their other arm slung across the other's back.  "Your brother?" she guessed.

He nodded once. "His name was Liam."

 _Was._ Emma rolled that thought around in her mind, absorbing the obvious implications. She studied the picture again, noting the comfortable familiarity the brothers exhibited with each other. Empathy welled up inside of her, and she reached for Killian's hand without taking her gaze off the photo. She knew what it was like to be faced with imprisonment and lacking any familial support. Hell, she hadn't even had one single friend in her corner that she could have counted upon. She'd been utterly alone, angry and terrified.

Emma vowed to herself that she wouldn't let Killian go through the same experience.

"I'm sorry for your losses," she told him quietly.

He nodded in acknowledgement. "He was a good man. Raised me by himself, practically. Mum died when I was seven, and our father wasn't much of a parent even when he was around. Liam worked himself to exhaustion juggling two jobs and going to school, but he was there for me when I needed it. And then he took the money he should have been saving or using to pay off his loans quicker and put me through college." He traced his thumb over her knuckles, his expression full of self-loathing and regret. "He died in a car wreck on the way to the airport for my college graduation. Never got to see the fruit of his labors."

"I'm sure he's proud of you, Killian."

His hand squeezed hers lightly, as if physically wishing her words to be true. Inhaling deeply, he seemed to shake himself from the melancholia of his thoughts. "I want to show you something," he reminded her. Tugging gently on her hand, he led her away from the desk and over to the bookshelf. "Take a look, love."

Emma scanned the bookshelf, wondering exactly what it was that Killian wanted her to see. She ran her finger along the spine of a book, examining some of the titles along the top shelf: _How to Write a Fiction Book: A Beginner's Guide; The Fiction Author's Market; Selling Your Work: What a Writer Needs to Know; Tax Preparation and the Working Writer._ A dozen other books with similar titles filled the rest of the shelf and half of the next. Emma's brow furrowed. Killian had told her what he did for a living. It wasn't exactly a mystery to her anymore.

She glanced back at The Fiction Author's Market with a frown. Unless he was more serious about his fiction than he'd indicated to her this morning?

Emma started to ask him, thinking that fiction writing might be a very good outlet for him right now, when a book on the third shelf caught her eye. _The Snow Bandit_ , by James B. Huckes. Her eyes sought out the other books by instinct _. Red Riding Wolf; The Huntsman's Curse; Mirror of the Winter Queen._ They were all there. "I don't understand," she faltered. "I thought you said you didn't read him."

Emma swallowed, taking in the way that Killian rubbed the back of his neck, shifting from one foot to the other, as if he were uncomfortable. She looked back toward the writing how-to's on the first two shelves, and understanding clicked into place at last. "It's you," she said quietly, "isn't it? You're him."

"To be more precise, Milah and I were," he admitted with a sheepish look. "But yes."

"But..." She blinked several times, trying to wrap her head around it. "Why didn't you just tell me, then?"

"Well, it was rather awkward after you brought him up. I didn't know how to come out and tell you right then, so I didn't. And then later it was harder, because I started to care for you and I wanted..." He swallowed. "It sounds terrible, love, but I wanted to make certain it was me you wanted, not him."

"But they're the same person!" she protested. "Sort of." She tilted her head. "Wait. Were you worried I'd only be interested in your money and fame if I knew?"

He flushed. "Archie and Belle advised caution, especially considering the legal situation."

"Well, I guess I can understand that," she said grudgingly. "That doesn't mean I like it, though. You still should have told me sooner."

"But how could I, love, when you kept reminding me we weren't in a real relationship? This isn't something I share with just anyone. Certainly not someone I'm casually sleeping with."

"All right, all right," she sighed. "I get it. Just...no more secrets, okay? Not unless your lawyers say something's off limits."

"Aye."

Emma studied Killian for several moments, wondering what it meant for them now that she did know. "So now what?" she wondered aloud.

"I don't know," he said, seeming to understand the direction of her thoughts. "I don't want to put you in the middle of this, Emma. I don't want you to get hurt."

"Killian," she said, wrapping her arms around his waist and tugging him to her, "I'm sure I'll be fine. I'm tough."

"You don't understand," he whispered, his eyes alight with love and desperation, "if Gold knows about you, he _will_ use you against me.  

"Shhh," she soothed, laying a finger on his lips. "We'll figure this out, Killian, I promise. But not tonight."

"Swan--"

Whatever protests he had evaporated when she trailed her fingers down his chest and pressed her lips to his. Hooking her fingers into the waistband of his trousers, she skimmed her hands around his hipbones, enjoying the feel of his skin, sleek and warm, beneath her fingertips. She broke the kiss, nuzzling into the crook of his neck with a hum.

The vibration against his throat sparked something primal in Killian. Eliciting a low growl, he pressed into her, his hips flush against her own. Her breath caught in her throat as he scooped her up into his arms, his eyes darkened with arousal. "Killian!" she protested in surprise as he carried her toward the desk. "Let me take care of _you,_ " she pleaded as he settled her into the chair with care.

"Later," he said with a playful bossiness that went straight from her ears to her groin. Pulling his shirt off, he tossed it aside with casual recklessness. "Right now I need you, love. _All of you_."

Unable to resist the need and vulnerability in his eyes, Emma stood up and reached for his belt. Unbuckling it, she pulled his belt free with a hiss and divested him of his remaining clothing. If the coupling of their bodies was his desire, she would  participate with fervor. Hadn't he given her just what she needed when she'd asked him to take her hard and fast this morning?

Cradling her face in his hands, Killian kissed her slow and deep. Emma responded eagerly, trying to show him the depth of feeling that she could not yet put into words.  The tangle of their tongues was intoxicating and addictive, want and need snarling together into a frenzy of fumbling hands and panting breaths that was all-consuming.   
  
Cool air enveloped her skin as Killian dispensed with her shirt and made short work of her bra. Something between a gasp and a whine erupted from her throat as he caressed the underside of her breasts and then twirled the tips of his thumbs over her nipples. "Killian," she croaked, struggling to remain steady on her feet as his tongue blazed a hot, wet path from the crevice between her breasts, detouring across her belly at an angle to curve along her inner thigh. She inhaled sharply as he parted her wet folds, her neck arching back as she shivered with pleasure. Her fingers scrabbled through his hair as he wound her tighter and tighter with his mouth. Her fingers curled against the base of his neck, and she tugged lightly to get his attention, half-stupefied by the things he was doing to her.

Drawing him to his feet, she turned, walking him backwards until they reached the chair, determined to make at least part of this solely about his pleasure. Shoving him gently, he sat at her silent command, watching her with hooded eyes. Kneeling in front of the chair, Emma enveloped the length of his hardness with the wet heat of her mouth. The groan of pleasure this extracted from him sent renewed heat to her thighs, and she felt herself grow wetter. Humming as she moved her mouth along the length of his erection, Emma's own whines of pleasure soon joined his, the knowledge that she was doing this to him--making him gasp and whimper and shudder with pleasure--spurring her to greater and greater arousal.

"Fuck," he gasped helplessly as she withdrew her mouth with a smile, "Emma--"

Spreading her legs wide, she lowered herself onto his hardness, cradling him close as placed her hands on his shoulders. Breathing in his familiar scent, she expelled one ragged breath and began to move, her hardened nipples scraping deliciously across the roughness of his chest hair. The chair creaked with her gentle movements, and Killian's arms shifted up and down her back, restless with wanting.

"Emma," he cried in a strangled voice as she ministered to his wounded spirit with her body, " _please_."

She came apart half a moment before he did, their drawn out groans of pleasure wedding together with such perfect harmony that she nearly missed his soft plea as they came down from the high, "Don't leave."

She watched him for several moments, struggling to catch her breath. Brushing a lock of stray hair from his eyes, she felt her heart simultaneously swell with love and ache with sorrow at the uncertain vulnerability in his eyes. "I won't," she promised, sealing it with a fierce kiss. "I won't."

He was quiet for a moment, studying her with a silent intensity as his hands gripped the curves of her bottom, holding her in his embrace. "Why?" he asked at last. "Why are you so bloody understanding about all of this?"

"Because," she told him simply as she laid her head against his chest, "I've been where you are before."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Well, you'll be happy to know that while I originally planned to have Emma find out about his writing pseudonym and identity later, I decided to dispense with that this chapter and go ahead and have him come clean. I figured there will be enough drama later with the trial, right? Plus, I think we were all missing some of that neighborly affection this fic is titled after! ;-)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry for such a long delay, but I’ve been having migraines, and that really slows down my writing.

Emma slipped out of Killian’s house just past four o’clock that morning. Her sleep had been fitful and restless, despite the shelter of Killian’s arms. More than once, she’d started awake, convinced she was back in the jailhouse again, pregnant and abandoned and forced to endure the harassing catcalls of more seasoned prisoners. Each and every time, Killian inched closer, nuzzling his face into her neck as he slept, holding her just a little closer, as if to anchor Emma in reality. The subconscious comfort that he offered Emma while he slumbered awakened feelings of guilt; he was the one that needed reassurance and comfort right now. She wasn’t the one facing possible arrest in the morning.

Leaving him in the middle of the night like she was ashamed of him nearly killed Emma. It wasn’t right. She’d argued about that almost half the night with Killian, in between their lovemaking. Emma knew what it was like to face arrest alone, how empty and hopeless it made a person feel, but none of her protests had made a damned bit of difference; Killian was determined to keep Emma out of the public eye at all costs, and if that meant seeing each other under the cover of night and maintaining their adversarial relationship in public, Killian was more than willing to do so in order to keep Emma from feeling any backlash from Gold or the public once his situation came to light. And, given the money and power Robert Gold had at his disposal to leverage as he saw fit, they both knew it was only a matter of time until it did.

And so, Emma went home and slipped into her own bed. Already it felt too large, too cold without Killian, and that frightened her. She might never share a bed or breakfast or snide remarks over her back fence with him ever again. If Killian went away, someone else would move in next door. How could she ever get used to anyone living next door but him? He’d ruined her for any normal neighborly relationship now, and she didn’t honestly know if she could ever look over into his yard again without seeing his muscled, shirtless form hard at work.

_Emma clutched the bottle of cola in one hand, staring with intensity at the squirrel frolicking in the middle of her yard. Squirrels weren’t so bad, she told herself firmly. They were fluffy, she ticked off in her head. And lively. And, um… riveting. Much more so than her neighbor. Whom she was not riveted by. At all._

_And that was why she was not looking at her snarky, hot neighbor, working in his flower garden next door. (Flowers? Really? Was there anything about this neighbor that wasn’t irritatingly perfect?) Nope, she thought, taking a sip of her drink. She wasn’t noticing the ripple and play of his back and shoulder muscles as while he knelt in the grass, weeding. And she most certainly wasn’t admiring the dark hair that downed his broad chest while he paused to wipe the sweat from his brow. Nor did she study the way his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he took a long, slow gulp from the jug of water that sat in the grass next to him. Nope. She wasn’t noticing anything at all._

_“Enjoying the view?”_

_Emma started in her chair, nearly spilling her drink all over her lap. “What?” She shifted her gaze and found him grinning at her, a twinkle in his azure eyes as he leaned against the fence._

_“I asked if you were enjoying the view.”_

_She snorted—a little too loudly, perhaps, but her point was made just the same. “You know, maybe if you put a shirt on once in a while, you and your massive ego wouldn’t assume people were admiring you all the time.”_

_“Hmm,” he said, his lips twitching with amusement, “Actually, I was referring to the new daylilies I planted in by the lavender and bee balm. But do go on about the other improvements to the scenery, love.”_

_“Uh,” she floundered, at a loss for a witty retort. Crap. “The flowers are nice, I guess,” she mumbled, embarrassed. Emma took another sip of her drink, avoiding his gaze._

_“But clearly not as nice as other diversions,” he practically preened, unsuccessfully attempting to rake errant locks of dark hair out of his too-blue eyes. Probably on purpose, damn him._

_Oh, shut up, she thought irritably. Out loud she said, “I was lost in thought! And it’s not like you aren’t so full of yourself that assuming you meant yourself was out of the realm of possibility.”_

_“I see.” He bit his lower lip, eyes darkening. (And Emma was absolutely not going to think about why that could be!) “And just what was it that has my lovely neighbor so preoccupied, hmm?”_

_“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she teased._

_“Perhaps I would,” he said softly._

_Emma looked at him sharply, but instead of the knowing look that she expected to see in his eyes, all she saw was thoughtful sincerity, and it unsettled her._

_“I should go study,” she said, standing up from her chair abruptly. “I’m sure I’ll see you again whenever,”_

_“I’m sure I’ll see you again whenever,” she waved, trying not to sound as if she cared one way or the other whether she did or not. And she didn’t, Emma reminded herself firmly. Not at all._

_“Looking forward to it, neighbor,” his cheeky reply floated across the yard. Emma tried not to smile as she went back inside her house. She managed the feat quite beautifully until she was alone in her bedroom, whereupon her lips twitched upward as she wandered into the bathroom and drew a bubble bath. And if her control slipped and she let a smile spread across her face while she relaxed in the tub and let her mind wander to thought of her neighbor sans other articles of clothing besides his shirt, well….that was her own very dirty little secret._

Emma swiped at her cheek, letting the memory fade. She’d been interrupted thus all morning, her paper coming together piecemeal, written in fits and starts. How in the world was she supposed to concentrate well enough to write a coherent paper like this? She could ask for an extension, although she hated to do it, but how was she to explain her reason for doing so? She wasn’t in any position to share Killian’s private affairs with others, even if she wanted to do so. It would be a betrayal of the trust Killian had placed in her, and she wasn’t about to stoop to Neal’s level and inflict layers of treachery on top of the fear and worry Killian was doubtless already feeling.

Emma pushed back from her desk with a loud scrape of her chair. She prowled her way through the house, restless and without real purpose, until she found herself in the kitchen. She gazed around the small space with tired eyes. It wasn’t much, by any means, with an old electric stove that only had two working burners at any given time, and not nearly enough cabinetry to store her things, but like Killian it was hers. It was hers, and she didn’t let just anyone violate the space unscathed.

Picking up a sponge, Emma scrubbed at imaginary stains on the flawless counter top for several minutes, torn between the need to call Belle and the knowledge that she would only be a distraction if she did. And Killian wouldn’t thank her for that.

Throwing the sponge down again, Emma moved around the kitchen, collecting the ingredients to make hot chocolate. She didn’t often make it homemade; it was much easier, albeit far less tasty, to use a prepared mix when she was studying, or dashing off to work and class. But the ritual, learned from her college roommate, Mary-Margaret Blanchard, gave her comfort. And making her favorite sweet beverage from scratch was just the sort of necessary distraction that she needed right now.

Whisk by whisk, she relaxed a little more, focusing all of her attention on the mixture of melted chocolate and milk. Letting it scald would ruin the drink and upset Mary-Margaret. The fact that her roommate no longer lived with her and wouldn’t even know the difference didn’t even register with Emma anymore. The only thing in the entire universe that mattered right now was this batch of hot chocolate. She could control its fate, prevent disaster. All it took was some very simple stirring.

The buzz of her cell phone startled her out of her skin. Emma dropped the whisk into the saucepan, spattering little droplets of chocolate onto the stove top, and darted across the small kitchen. “Hello?” she said with breathless desperation. “Killian?”

“Ooh,” a familiar feminine voice teased, “who’s Killian?”

“Oh,” Emma said, unable to keep the disappointment from her voice. “Hi, Mary-Margaret.”

“Hi,” the other girl returned with her usual sunny cheer, “so who’s Killian?”

“Nobody,” she hedged, trying to swallow around the large lump that had formed in her throat, and praying that Mary-Margaret wouldn’t hear the waver in voice, “Just a guy. My neighbor, actually.”

“Wait, is this the one that moved in a few months ago? The British guy that you’re nuts about?”

“I am not,” she protested reflexively.

“Emma, don’t lie to me,” her friend chided. “You two have had a thing for each other since he moved in; it was obvious from the way you talked about him. It was only a matter of time until you slept with him. Though I must say, refreshing as it is, I didn’t expect you to get attached—”

“I never said I was attached,” Emma said defensively.

“You didn’t have to,” Mary-Margaret said in a smug tone. Emma would lay a pretty hefty wager on the fact that her friend was rolling her eyes right about now. “I know you. If you weren’t attached, you wouldn’t be waiting anxiously for him to call. Now, what’s wrong? Are things weird between you now?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”

“You’re lying again.”

Damn Mary-Margaret and her ability to sniff out lies, even over the phone. Apparently they’d rubbed off on each other a little too much during college. “Things with Killian are sort of up in the air right now,” she said truthfully, “and I really need to go. I can’t tie up the line,” she started to explain as an acrid scent filled her nostrils. She pulled away from the phone, sniffing the air. Her eyes widened. “Damn!” She dashed over to the stove, peering down at the charred, congealed mess in frustration. She reached for the pan, unthinking, and burned her fingers on the hot metal. “Ow!” She cursed some more and stuck her fingers in her mouth.

“I know that sound,” Mary-Margaret said with a long-suffering sigh. “You burned the hot chocolate again, didn’t you?”

Emma’s guilty silence told her old roommate all she needed to know.

“Fine, I’ll let you go,” the other woman conceded with reluctance. “But this isn’t over, Emma. Expect another phone call from me later. And make sure you put ice on the burn.”

They bid each other goodbye, and Emma pressed the End Call button with the unburned fingers of her other hand. She turned back toward the mess, and a sense of foreboding filled her again. It was only hot chocolate, she told herself as she set about cleaning it up. And so what if she’d burned it? She burned it all the time. It didn’t mean anything. Really, it didn’t.

Her phone buzzed again, and Emma reached for it with a sigh. “Mary-Margaret, it hasn’t even been ten minutes!”

“Hello, Emma?” an accented, unfamiliar voice said uncertainly. “Emma Swan?”

“Yes, I’m Emma Swan,” she answered warily, as the feeling of dread swelled to an ugly crescendo. “Who’s calling?”

“This is Belle French, Killian’s legal counsel. I’m sorry to inform you of this over the phone, but he’s just been arrested.”

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A million and one thanks go out to my awesome beta reader, Raams, who not only helped polish up this chapter, but who also gave me the encouragement and confidence I needed to work on this fic again!

Emma waited anxiously in a cold, hard chair the color of vomit, her emotions ranging between anger and fright. Harsh fluorescent lights cast a sickly yellow haze onto the half a dozen other people that sat in the waiting room with her. No one said anything, no one made eye contact, but Emma had been here enough times already to recognize a few of them. She knew nothing about them or who they were here to see, but she felt a kinship with them nonetheless. They shared an experience, waiting to see loved ones that had been locked away.

There was one woman in particular, with elegantly coiffed blonde hair and an apparent penchant for the color red, that Emma felt like she understood. She, too, seemed to preside in limbo each visit, never leaving her chair, rejected each time by the one she was there to visit. But whereas Emma became frustrated each time Killian rejected her attempts to see and speak with him, this other woman simply wore a perpetual look of sad resignation, as if such rejections had become routine.

The notion that her own rejections from Killian might become routine unnerved Emma, and she considered moving over to speak with the other woman; it was only that there are certain kinds of misery that really don’t want company which stopped her. None of it was her affair, and yet she couldn’t help but wonder about the woman’s story.

The other visitors gradually filtered out as staff came in to either escort them to a private room to see their inmate, or direct them to one of the booths in a row lining a wall of glass. Soon, only she and the other blonde woman remained. Emma sighed and gazed up at the clock on the wall to her left. Time seemed to both crawl and speed by when she was here—she couldn’t explain it.

Being on the other side of things confused Emma; she’d been in jail once, herself, and there had been no one to visit. No one had cared, and Emma remembered with painful clarity just how that felt. She couldn’t do the same to Killian, no matter how embarrassed Belle said Killian was to have Emma see him this way. She wouldn’t give up on him; it just wasn’t in her. He needed to know that someone still cared about him, that not everyone had turned against him in the noxious court of public opinion.

“Miss Tremaine?” Emma heard someone say, “He’ll see you today.”

“I…beg your pardon?” Emma looked up to see the blonde woman gaping at one of the staff members. “I didn’t quite hear you right, darling.”

“You heard perfectly fine. Mr. Scarlet will see you today.”

Watching the blonde woman take her place at one of the booths on the far left end and pick up the phone to speak with the brunette man on the other side of the glass, Emma couldn’t help feeling a little envious. She leaned back in the uncomfortable chair and closed her eyes with a sigh. She should be happy for her, she knew. It should give her hope. But instead it just made Emma feel all the sadder that she alone would not be seeing her loved one today.

“Miss Swan?”Opening her eyes, Emma saw a male member of the staff peering down at her. “Mr. Jones is waiting for you.” He gestured in the direction of the booths. “You have ten minutes.”

Emma’s eyes traced a path to Killian, even as she made her way across the room. He was pale, with stains of lavender-grey beneath his eyes, indicating a lack of sleep. Hunching in the chair provided for him, his frame was noticeably thinner. His short, neatly trimmed hair and facial stubble had become longer and peppered with grey. Yet for all of these physical changes, he was undeniably her Killian.

She picked up the phone extension and settled herself into the chair facing him. “Hi,” she said, after he picked up his own extension.

“Hello.”

There was a beat of awkward silence, while Emma searched for something to say. It seemed kind of stupid to ask how he was, considering the situation, and it was more than clear from the physical changes that had taken place that life on the inside was not treating him well at all.

Finally, Emma ventured, “I didn’t think you’d see me today.”

“I almost didn’t,” he admitted, shamefaced and unable to quite meet her gaze.

“What changed your mind? Belle?”

“Partly.” His eyes travelled down the row of booths to his right, but he offered no further information, and Emma wasn’t about to press him. He looked at her directly, then, his blue eyes radiating a mixture of regret, guilt, and confusion. “I’m sorry. I never wanted to involve you in any of this. I didn’t want you to remember me this way--”

“Killian,” Emma broke in, feeling worried, “stop talking like that. We’re going to get you out of here, and we are going to fight this.”

“What’s the point?” he said with quiet despair. “They’ve already taken my good name, my career. They won’t stop until they destroy my entire life.”

“The point,” she said with all the firmness she could muster, “is that Belle’s working hard to get you out of here. Robert Gold hasn’t broken you yet, Killian Jones. I _know you._ You didn’t give up on me when I pushed you away; you kept chiseling through my walls.” With a persistence she’d found as irritating as she did flattering. “Don’t give up on yourself. You will come out of all of this, and you will win. I just need you to hang on a little longer. Promise me.” He shifted in his seat, restless and unconvinced. “Promise me, Killian.”

“I promise,” he said with a quiet sigh into the phone receiver as the prison staff signaled a two minute warning for people to wrap up their conversations.

“Good.” Emma paused, considering the man who sat on the other side of the glass from her. It wasn’t for nothing that she had let him into her life. She’d sensed a kinship of souls from the beginning—a frightening, overwhelming pull to bare herself to him body and soul, which sent her running away; it was why she’d fought tooth and nail to push him back out every time he managed to worm his way into her good graces. But some things, some people, are inevitable…

_The smell of charcoal and grease greeted Emma as she stepped onto her patio, a small gardening tote clutched in one hand and a pair of sunglasses in the other. She’d spent hours reading and analyzing materials for all of her law classes, and her brain felt fried. She needed to do something simpler, something basic. Like all the yard work she’d been putting off._

Exciting life you got here _, she thought to herself sarcastically, her eyes following the scent of the grilling meat over to her neighbor’s yard. He wore a red ball cap and jeans that flattered the curve of his ass. Emma admired it openly, while he faced away from her. His torso was bare, like always, and she watched the slow ripple of his shoulder muscles, mesmerized, while he tended to whatever he was cooking on the hot grill._

Burgers? _She wondered, sniffing the air again. Suddenly, ordering in a pizza again didn’t seem half as appealing, even if she could get it on the cheap from the owner. She wanted a burger now, damn it. Emma could think of little else, with smoky aroma in the air. Her stomach growled, and she swallowed, not quite able to taste one. Pizza would never do now, the craving was too strong. She needed a burger—wanted to taste it, feel it in her mouth._

_And nothing but nothing would satisfy her but Killian Jones._

_Her eyes snapped open, shocked by the sudden incongruence of her thoughts._ Where the hell did that come from? _she wondered._

_“You feeling all right over there, love?” Her gaze trailed over to the adjoining fence, where Killian leaned against it, watching her with concern. “You look a little dazed. Not yourself.”_

_Emma waved a hand in acknowledgement, trying to clear the odd pattern of thoughts her mind had created. “I’m fine,” she managed, trying very hard not to think about the sheen of sweat glistening across his chest—no doubt earned from the heat of the grill rather than any yard work of his own, for once. “I just…studied too hard today.”_

_Killian tilted his head, as if he sensed her evasion. “No work tonight?” he finally asked._

_“No,” she replied, feeling self-conscious under his penetrating gaze. And why wouldn’t she, given the turn her sex-starved body had taken her mind? Sliding her sunglasses into place, Emma felt a tiny bit better. If he couldn’t see her eyes, it would be harder to read her, right? She gathered her hair together and wound an elastic hair band around it three times, binding it into a ponytail. “I try to schedule my heavy study sessions when I’m not slated to work for a day or two.”_

_She reached for one of the trowels in her gardening tote and settled by one of the corner flower beds, farthest away from Killian. She was putting off the inevitable; eventually she’d work her way around close to him again, where, she was certain, he would be afforded a rather nice view of her own ass. A view she wasn’t certain she minded giving him at the moment. And that was exactly why she needed to step back and get her hormones under control again._

_“I didn’t take you for the gardening type,” he said after she’d been working for a while, his voice farther away than before. Emma glanced up involuntarily and saw that he was lazing in one of his patio chairs, his eyes closed and his face tilted toward the sun. A bottle of beer sat opened on a table nearby, its cap carelessly discarded, but so far as Emma could see at this distance, he hadn’t yet drunk any of it._

_“I’m not,” she said honestly, pulling out a large weed growing between some of the smaller flower bushes. “The landscaping was already done when I bought the house. Figured it was my duty to maintain it, being a homeowner and all. Like your tree trimming,” she pointed out._

_“Hmm,” was the response. “So you don’t enjoy it, then?”_

_“Not especially. It’s sweaty and dirty, and I killed most of the plants the first couple of years I tried.”_

_“I hadn’t noticed you had any objections to my being sweaty,” he pointed out, his voice oozing with amusement. “And as to dirty, I can’t help but think you aren’t doing it properly if you don’t end up a bit disheveled in the process.”_

_She paused in her work, certain that he wasn’t talking about gardening anymore. “I…suppose,” she found herself saying as her cheeks flushed from embarrassment rather than the heat. Suddenly, an impish spirit overtook her, and she found herself playing along. “Especially if you’re sowing seeds,” she said with a false demureness that she certainly did not possess._

_There was a heavy silence for the beat of several moments. She heard the soft thunk of a bottle being set down again. He cleared his throat. “Precisely.”_

_Was that a note of surprise or strangled desire she’d heard in his voice?_

_“And of course, you have to know how to handle the hose properly if you want to get results,” he continued, this time with a hint of challenge in his tone._

_“And make sure the area around the bush is thoroughly soaked,” she retorted, “Really wet and dripping.”_

_“Aye,” he agreed, his voice becoming deeper and smoother—practically a purr. “Makes it more satisfying to plunge your fingers in and really work the soil.”_

Shit _, she thought, pulling out a flower instead of a weed. She did_ not _need the thought of Killian Jones doing_ that _to her, right now!_

_“Just…um…” she struggled, drawing a blank._

_“And I can never resist a nip of a delicious plum while I rest between labors.”_

_Emma snorted with laughter. She couldn’t help it. The snort turned into a giggle, and pretty soon Killian was chuckling himself. Before they knew it, Emma had removed her sunglasses, and they were both roaring with laughter._

_“My apologies,” Killian said, gasping for breath as Emma wiped a tear from her eye, “That certainly wasn’t one of my best lines.”_

_“No,” she laughed again, hiccupping, “it wasn’t. But it made me forget all about my studies, so thank you.”_

_“You’re welcome,” he said, climbing to his feet again. “I thought it might.” He smiled over his shoulder at her as he turned to check on the food. “You have a lovely smile, lass.”_

_She couldn’t see his expression, and the tone of his voice was cautious, even guarded, but she sensed he was sincere all the same; it made her heart flutter oddly in a way that both frightened and excited her. She muttered an awkward sort of response, feeling foolish, but Killian didn’t seem at all bothered by it, and kept talking to her as if he’d said nothing unusual at all._

_She had trouble focusing on his words at first, distracted by the conflicting wash of thoughts and feelings their interaction seemed to be drawing out of her, but eventually she worked out that he was inviting her to dinner._

_“What?” she blinked at him._

_“Have dinner with me,” he invited again._

No _,_ Emma _, she told herself._ No, no, no! It’s a bad idea! You can’t come back from this! _“Okay,” she smiled. “Meet me in my house in a few? I just need to clean up a bit.”_

_His eyes sparkled wickedly. “Not too much, I hope.”_

_“I’ll leave the back door unlocked for you,” she grinned._

_Twenty minutes later, Emma walked into her kitchen, fresh from the shower, her hair blown dry, wearing a little pink tank top and a breezy, white skirt that fell to her calves. Her feet were bare, showcasing the chipped red polish of her toes, which made her feel oddly vulnerable, but she wasn’t about to let on to him what a big deal this was for her by picking out actual coordinating shoes, for God’s sake. She never let anyone into her home. It was as good as letting them into her heart, and it never seemed to end well._

_“Hi,” she said, when she heard the screen door open a couple of minutes later. “Sorry, I’ll just be a minute,” she muttered, standing on her tiptoes to reach higher into one of the cabinets._

_“Let me,” he offered, setting the platter of food on her table. He joined her by the cabinet, smelling of soap instead of charcoal. Apparently she wasn’t the only one who’d cleaned up a bit._

_He reached up to retrieve the plates and Emma’s eyes were drawn to the broad expanse of his chest—still bare, damn it. His eyes caught hers. Electricity sizzled between them, hot and dangerous, and suddenly Killian was standing very close, with a smolder in his eyes that asked the answer to a question they both longed to explore with their lips._

_“Please, you couldn’t handle it,” she found herself saying. It was as much a dare to herself, she realized, as a challenge to him._

_“Maybe you’re the one who couldn’t handle it,” he retorted with an overconfident smirk._

_Her eyes narrowed instinctively at the good-natured taunt, and before she knew it, she had her fingers in his hair, kissing him, exploring him. All the pent-up curiosity and desire she’d been denying ever since he’d moved in finally found expression. Killian moaned softly as she took the kiss deeper, and then answered back with a soft growl, twining his own tongue against hers as he met the want and need that was so painfully present in her kisses with a passion of his own._

_“That was…” He panted for breath after they broke apart, his ears red from arousal, unable to complete the sentence._

_“Not over,” Emma found herself saying as she struggled to catch her own breath. She pulled him into another kiss, her hands sliding across the planes of the chest she’d lusted over for weeks. Killian shuddered gently beneath her touch, his arms closing around her more tightly as his fingers began an exploration of their own. Dinner was utterly forgotten, their limbs tangling together as Emma instinctively guided them toward the bedroom. A voice in the back of her mind whispered that sleeping with her neighbor was reckless and stupid, but another, much louder part of Emma squelched it quickly. There would be no going back from this…_

Blushing to recall the sexual tension leading up to that first time together, Emma knew that now that Killian _was_ part of her life, she wasn’t going to let him just retreat from her, or from himself. Not without a fight. “I miss you,” she said quietly.

He looked up at her again, blinking. Surprise flared in his eyes for a moment, along with something elusive and indefinable. Whatever it was, Emma sensed that it was good—a spark of hope in the darkness.

“Emma…”

“You’ll be home before you know it. You still owe me dinner, remember?”

He offered her a half-hearted smile. “Aye.”

“See you soon,” she said by way of farewell once the prison staff announced that it was time for the inmates to return to their cells. She refused to say goodbye; it seemed too ill an omen to utter, even if Emma wasn’t normally given to superstition. She would take no chances in a situation like this. Not when Killian’s own fate and Emma’s own heart were so heavily invested in the outcome.

* * *

Belle worked her magic and came through sooner than either of them could have imagined.

“I contacted one of his old mates,” Belle informed her as they waited for Killian’s release a few days later, on a Tuesday morning. Emma should have been in class, but had opted to skip, wanting him to have one friendly face, at least, to greet him besides his lawyer’s, after so many weeks behind bars. “According to Killian, he’s very well to do, and owes a favor into the bargain.”

Belle’s words piqued her interest, and Emma wondered if this mysterious friend could act as a character witness during Killian’s upcoming trial. She kept silent, however, trusting that Belle had any possible lead for the case well-covered. Belle didn’t have her reputation for ruthlessness and shrewdness for nothing. And besides, Emma didn’t really know where she stood in terms of her involvement with any of this. She was a law student _and_ Killian’s girlfriend, more or less, which complicated everything and made her hesitate to pry for information where she normally would have demanded it.

“Good,” she said, more to fill the silence than any real need to say it. She peered up at the clock, checking the time. It was a compulsion this morning, this pull of her eyes to the creeping movement of the clock. What was it Mary-Margaret had always said? “A watched pot never boils?” Emma snorted to herself softly, a tiny smiling threatening at the corners of her mouth. Given her own propensity to wander off or get distracted while cooking (leading to burnt food, and water evaporated from boiling too long), she’d never really understood the aphorism until now.

Still, how could she stop looking at the clock, given all her pent-up, nervous anticipation at seeing Killian again and making sure he was really all right?

Belle seemed to have a similar problem, if the frequent shift of her intent gaze was any indication. In a weird way, Emma was glad because it meant Belle truly cared about her client. Killian wasn’t simply some paycheck to cash. There would be no half-hearted, lazy defense of Killian Jones while Belle was in charge of the case.

“Ms. French.” Both of the women looked up to see one of the prison guards standing in the doorway. “Follow me.”

Emma watched in silence as Belle gathered her briefcase and coat.

“We’ll be back as soon as possible,” she murmured in reassurance, laying a comforting hand on Emma’s shoulder, “but there’s a lot of red tape involved. It may take a while.”

She nodded, well familiar with the procedure herself, and wondered how on earth she was going to pass the time. She felt like she’d been waiting forever as it was. Watching Belle disappear down a hallway with the guard, Emma sighed and glanced up at the clock again. Too bad she’d never taken Mary-Margaret up on those knitting lessons she’d offered. Emma had always been intimidated by the fast click of her friend’s needles and the quick movements of her hands. She had always secretly feared she’d end up with nothing but a frustrating, tangled mess, even if she had been interested in the hobby. But even a tangled mess would have been a welcome distraction in a situation like this. Not, she reflected ruefully, that the prison staff would’ve let her bring knitting needles or anything remotely resembling a weapon on the premises.

Picking up a decades-out-of-date magazine, Emma leafed through it without really seeing it. She was worried for Killian, afraid that the poisonous reception he was likely to receive from their neighbors as from the rest of the local public might leave him a worse state than even he’d been in during his stay in prison. Emma had had no one, no allies or friends, to return to when she’d been released. That had been hard, but not unexpected—she’d been alone her most of her life. But Killian…he’d lost his brother, then his wife and writing partner. Losing the goodwill of the neighbors, who had accepted him with an ease and readiness that they had never accepted Emma with, might cut him in yet another way that would be difficult to heal from. She knew from her own experience with Neal that the betrayal of someone who’d seemed to accept you wounded far worse than the snide remarks and judgments of total strangers.

Emma worried over this and half a dozen other issues related to the trial and Killian’s well-being, occasionally turning a page of the magazine for normalcy’s sake. She had no better idea what was in it now than she’d had when Belle left, but though her thoughts might be bogged down in worry, they were better occupied than when she’d been watching the clock.

Footsteps roused her attention, and Emma tossed the magazine aside carelessly. Scrambling to her feet, she turned to watch the doorway anxiously. Killian’s familiar form shuffled down the hallway, drawing nearer, with Belle by his side. Their heads were bent together, his eyes shielded from Emma’s, as Belle spoke to him in furious whispers. What she said, Emma hardly knew, but she understood the meaning of Killian’s white-knuckled grip on his lawyer’s arm well enough. He was frightened, clinging to the sound of her words like a lifeline for his sanity.

“Killian.” The broken sound of her own voice surprised her.

His head lifted a fraction, his blue eyes snapping to hers. His expression was distracted—his attention still mostly focused on whatever Belle was saying to him, Emma supposed—but his gaze never wavered from her as he travelled the remaining length of the hallway and crossed the small waiting room to her.

Belle hung back politely, turning her attention elsewhere to give them a few moments of privacy before they faced the public at large.

Killian half embraced her, half fell into her arms. Emma staggered on her feet, struggling to retain her balance, and inhaled the foreign, un-Killian like scents that permeated him. _Starch and some kind of generic soap_ , she thought, burying her face in the crook of his neck with relief. Her fingers dug into his clothes and climbed upward, desperate to touch his face. Killian seemed to share the sentiment, stroking her back, her arms, and finally her hair, as if trying to convince himself that she was real.

“You’re here,” he said, voice cracking, as he cradled her face in his hands. The statement was simple, but pregnant with significance, of possibility for what it meant for them both. There was a look of wonderment in his eyes, and a smile hovered at the corners of his lips, not quite realized, as if held in potential for some later, private time.

“Of course.”

He inhaled, pulling her close again. He said nothing, his warmth caressing her flesh. Emma understood his need for reassurance. She felt glad to hold him and give him the comfort he sought before they faced the harshness they were certain to encounter outside.

Emma kissed the underside of his chin and ran her fingers through his hair. It was even shaggier than the last time she’d seen him, and his facial stubble but a distant memory to the full beard growing in its place. Yet he was undeniably, unmistakably, Killian Jones—her annoying neighbor-turned- lover-turned potential future—in the flesh.

“Come on,” she said gently, reluctant to leave their brief shelter behind. “Belle’s providing lunch.”

His fingers interlaced with hers as they joined Belle again, gripping tightly, his fears communicated loudly in this one simple gesture. Emma pressed her lips together tightly, angry and defensive on his behalf. Her spirit screamed for justice, and she was determined to do everything she could to help him secure it.

“Remember, let me do any talking,” Belle told them as they approached the doors that led to the parking lot outside. “Even the words “no comment” can be twisted into implying that you have something to hide. Don’t acknowledge the press, no matter how much they hound you. Focus on getting to the vehicle. Security will be with you every step of the way, if there’s trouble.”

It was good advice, but hard to follow once they stepped out into the public again. The press of so many people, the blinding flash of bulbs, and the cacophony of so many voices set Emma’s nerves on edge. She was only dimly aware of Belle giving a brief statement to the press as she followed behind them with her own security detail—“My client and I are not taking any questions at this time, thank you!”—for it took all of Emma’s concentration and force of will not to snap at people or shove away the strangers invading her personal space with microphones or recording devices, demanding to know about Killian’s late wife; the status of his guilt; why he’d hidden his identity under a pseudonym (and  the implied accusation of what else he might be hiding)?

If not for the ever-tighter press of Killian’s fingers against her own, reminding her how much worse this must all be for him, Emma never would have been able to stay focused on just getting to the vehicle provided for them.

When the doors shut behind the three of them, cutting off the reporters’ access again, Emma breathed a sigh of relief. Killian slumped against the back seat of the vehicle, looking out one of the tinted windows with a dazed and distant expression. Uncertain whether to offer comfort or give him space, Emma cast a worried glance at Belle. The lawyer’s attention was elsewhere, however, giving quiet instructions to the driver for the best route to take back to her office to avoid any local crowds or protests that might disturb her client further. Truth be told, Emma wasn’t exactly certain whether people were madder that a murder suspect lived in their midst, or that a nationally famous author  had been hiding under their noses the entire time.

His eyes were closed when she peered at him again, and there was an unmistakable shine of moisture on one of his cheeks.

Emma’s heart broke; it was a substantially different hurt than what she’d experienced after Walsh and Neal, but perhaps all the more painful for that. This man was different. He hadn’t hurt her or betrayed her. She still _wanted_ him in her life, and he seemed to want her in his. But the nightmare they were in wouldn’t simply fade with an impulsive move out of state and a few weeks’ passage of time.

She settled close to Killian, wanting to let him know she was there, but not intruding on his personal space when he seemed disinclined to acknowledge anyone’s presence. Belle had already cracked open her briefcase and was reviewing an assortment of legal documents, not wasting any time while they rode. Emma admired her drive, and felt thankful, once more, that Killian had been able to hire her as his lawyer for the case. She knew all too well from her own experiences that a dedicated lawyer who believed in you could make all the difference in how your future turned out. Emma hadn’t been able to obtain her own counsel after Neal had betrayed her, and the lawyer provided by the court had made it quite obvious that he was simply going through the motions of what he was legally required to do on her behalf. That she hadn’t received more time or a harsher sentence could only be attributed to overcrowded prisons and her relative youth at the time.

_Have hope_ , Emma told herself as Killian’s uncertain fate loomed before her. _That’s what Mary-Margaret would tell you if she were here. Just have hope._

But Mary-Margaret had never had the brushes with the law that Emma had. She didn’t understand any of the harsh realities involved with any of this; some things you could only ever know from experience. And Mary-Margaret’s past was so good, even pure in comparison to Emma’s, that Emma had affectionately nicknamed her old roommate “Snow.” Mary-Margaret hadn’t minded, of course, being so sweet of disposition that she took it for the compliment it was in being compared to an iconic Disney princess.

_Hope_ , Emma told herself again. None of this was going to be easy, not by anyone’s standards. But Killian Jones’s life, his future, was worth fighting for, whether Emma figured into or not. She wasn’t going to give up on him, on any of it, without a damn good fight.

_I love you,_ she thought, gazing over at Killian again. His head was leaned against the window, and his eyes were still shut. He didn’t move or speak, but Emma sensed that he was as disturbed of spirit as ever. She wished she could wipe it all away, make all of these troubles as if they had never existed. _I love you, Killian Jones_ , she thought deliberately, studying the contours of a face that she had dearly missed when it had suddenly been cut out of her life, _and I will hope in your future hard enough for both of us._


End file.
